Paradise Lost
by Maddie Rose
Summary: Mella Baratheon rides north with the rest of her family - and is left as a ward in icy Winterfell. Despite her father's ambitions for their houses to join and her mother's own political machinations, Mella is fiercely determined to follow her heart...yet when the darkness and secrets of her family's past are discovered, it could bring danger to them all. Robb/OC.
1. Good Graces

Chapter One: Good Graces

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**A/N: Hey everyone. You will likely recognise this story from when it was on Warden of the West. I only own Mella Baratheon, so unfortunately Evelina Tyrell will not be in this. Please do read and review. I am going to try with this, but rewriting alone is always hard, and if I feel it's not worth the effort, I probably won't continue.**

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Mella Baratheon was beginning to feel claustrophobic in the carriage she shared with her mother and youngest siblings, Myrcella and Tommen. Of course, it wasn't as though it was an uncomfortable place – the carriage was spacious and richly furnished with silk cushions and velvet drapes, but in all honesty, she would have preferred to ride outside like her brother Joffrey. He was two years younger than Mella, but seemed to be able to do what he liked, as Cersei doted on him.

It had been a long two weeks of travelling. All they did in the carriage was listen to the court gossip that the chosen ladies-in-waiting of the day would deliver, and eat cakes. Mella was forced to sit patiently while her lady-in-waiting, Alyss, worked her long dark hair into elaborate plaits. That was one of the things that bothered Mella – although her twin brother had died when Cersei had given birth to him sixteen years ago, he had been dark-haired and grey-eyed like her, but all of her younger siblings had the golden hair and green eyes of their mother. Why was she so different?

"Mother, are we nearly in Winterfell?" Myrcella asked where she was delicately nibbling at some lemon cake. Mella had to smile at this – her sister was barely eleven, yet already she had the manners of a proper young lady. Mella herself had always been well-mannered due to her upbringing, but she was somewhat more…distant.

"Still another two weeks, sweetling." Cersei replied with a rather forced smile. Mella observed her mother impassively. As a young lady, she was of course schooled in the art of socialising, and at her age had already learned how to read people rather well. It was always in the eyes, she had noticed, and right now her mother's green eyes were bleak. She had not wished to venture north to ice-cold Winterfell, and Mella could not say that she was pleased about it, either.

A member of the Kingsguard opened the carriage door. Cersei raised her eyebrows and the man inclined his head. It was Jaime Lannister, Cersei's twin brother and Mella's uncle. A faint smile played about the corners of his lips.

"We have arrived."

Over the past two weeks, Mella had become used to staying in inns, with the bustling hubbub of her father's two-hundred-strong entourage around her. She took her uncle's hand and allowed him to help her step down from the carriage. Her brother Joffrey dismounted his horse and moved across to them.

"It's a rather dismal place, isn't it?" Joffrey drawled, glancing over the inn which they were staying at with a contemptuous expression on his face. Despite being two years younger, he was already taller than Mella, with a temper she was wary of and a sadistic streak she despaired of. He also seemed to already think that he was King – despite the fact that Mella was two years older than Joffrey, she would only take the throne if both Joffrey and Tommen died.

"It's going to be so wonderful in Winterfell," Alyss sighed wistfully. She was a rather dreamy girl a few years older than Mella, the daughter of a former knight and the princess's constant companion. She had romantic notions about the cold north that Mella unfortunately did not share. "Oh, you'll enjoy spending time with the Starks, my lady. They have a few children around your own age, so I'm certain that you will make friends."

They had stopped at an inn for the night and Mella was relaxing in a bath of warm water that smelled strongly of lavender. Alyss was chatting away and rubbing perfumed oils into Mella's hair. The dark-haired girl closed her eyes and tilted her head back, soothed by the feeling of Alyss's fingers working at her scalp. In all honesty, Mella wasn't so sure about making friends in Winterfell, but she didn't have the heart to dismiss Alyss's statement.

Alyss had been talking about the Starks for practically the entire trip so far. There was Lord Eddard Stark, who had been best friends with Mella's father Robert since boyhood. His wife, Lady Catelyn, and their five children. Six, if you counted Ned's bastard, Jon Snow. Robb was the closest in age to Mella, being one year her senior, but Alyss was almost certain that Mella would befriend young Sansa, who was three years her junior.

In all honesty, Mella thought she would be rather bored in the north. She was far too used to the sweltering heat of King's Landing, and the further north they ventured, the colder it got. She had never been to Winterfell before, but her mother's reluctance was starting to make Mella hesitant as well.

Alyss started to brush Mella's damp hair, working the tangles out. After that was done, she offered the princess a towel and helped her dry, before assisting her in putting on her nightclothes. Mella sat down on the bed, smelling of lavender and several spices. She sat patiently as Alyss plaited her hair, before her lady-in-waiting offered her a mirror.

Mella inspected her reflection. She had often been told that she was pretty, with those stormy grey eyes and dark hair that fell in waves down to nearly her waist. She was fair-skinned with a smattering of freckles across a small nose. Mella set the mirror down, feeling self-conscious. She often felt vain looking at her reflection, yet each time Alyss offered her the mirror she still looked, searching for any tiny imperfection.

Cersei had always told Mella that as a princess, she was supposed to be beautiful. One day she would marry a handsome lord and have lots of children. Mella had quickly come to realize that this was a fantastical fairytale. She would marry whoever her father deemed fit, and she would marry for convenience rather than love. Now she scoffed at the tales of glamour and love that Myrcella still seemed to believe – yet Mella hadn't the heart to shatter her younger sister's dreams.

"Do you think they will find you beautiful in Winterfell, my lady?" Alyss asked as she put perfume on Mella's wrists. The princess had always found it rather ridiculous – what was the point of smelling lovely for bed? Cersei had told her that it was good practise for when she was married, that a husband would want a woman who looked and smelled sweet at all times.

"Honestly, I couldn't care what they thought of me in Winterfell," Mella replied rather dismissively, moving across to the window. Outside, the soldiers scuffled through wagons and the Kingsguard rode on fine horses down the cobbled road out the front of the inn. Robert was speaking to Cersei, and her mother did not appear happy.

There was a knock at Mella's door, and Alyss answered it. The dark-haired girl was not at all pleased when Joffrey stalked into her room. She pulled her cloak over her nightclothes and frowned at her younger brother.

"Joff, you know it's rude to enter a lady's room at this time of night," she informed her brother coolly.

"Father won't let me go hunting," Joffrey spat as he marched over to the window, his eyes blazing with anger. Mella knew better than to reprimand her brother when he was in this sort of mood. She observed him with silent disdain as he glowered out.

"It's late," Mella reminded him quietly, "Father is right not to let you go out hunting at this time."

Joffrey turned on her, a petulant scowl crossing his face. "What would you know? You're just a _girl._ Besides, I am going to be King someday. I should be allowed to do as I please."

Mella watched her brother with a guarded expression, her features kept deliberately impassive. Joffrey had always been so certain of himself. Mella didn't know whether to envy him for it or not. He was so _arrogant_, her brother.

"But you are not King yet."

Joffrey stared at her with rage burning in his eyes. Clearly, he hadn't thought anyone would speak to him in such a manner. His clenched his jaw and Mella took a cautious step back. His hands clenched into fists.

"How dare you speak to me like that!" Joffrey fumed, clearly incensed by Mella's softly-spoken words. She thought that he might hit her, but instead his response was a childish one. "I'm telling Mother!"

Joffrey stalked out and Mella was so relieved that she very nearly laughed. Alyss closed the door behind him, looking troubled. She crossed over to the princess and tentatively touched the younger girl's arm.

"Are you alright, my lady?" Alyss inquired of her, worry lacing her tone, "Do you need me to stay with you the night?"

"No, I'll be fine," Mella replied, and she meant it. She had seen much more violent outbursts from Joffrey before, so she was hardly threatened by mere words. She offered Alyss a rather insincere smile and then lifted her chin, gathering her dignity about her like the cloak she currently wore. "You may leave, Alyss."

Only once her lady-in-waiting had left did Mella allow her composed mask to slip. She clambered into her bed with a heavy sigh. Perhaps Winterfell would bring a respite after all. She was tired of dealing with Joffrey's violent mood swings and her mother's constant complaints about everything to do with the north. Maybe there was something to look forward to in icy Winterfell after all – although what that might be, Mella couldn't say.

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The warmth of the dawn sun filtered through the curtains, the morning rays caressing Mella's cheek. She yawned and stretched underneath the heavy blankets on her bed, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. A sudden knock at the door made her jump, and she quickly leapt from her bed and pulled a robe around her. What was someone doing disrupting her at this hour?

"My lady, it's Alyss." Mella recognized the voice of her lady-in-waiting, and her shoulders relaxed. Anyone else she might have sent away, but when it came to Alyss, Mella had always been rather lenient. "May I come in? I've been requested to prepare you by your lady mother."

Mella was a bit surprised at this. It couldn't have been much past dawn, yet her mother had told Alyss to prepare her? Prepare her for what, precisely? Smothering her curiosity, Mella lifted her chin.

"Come in."

Alyss entered with her arms full of blood-red fabric, which Mella assumed was a dress. Perhaps it was an old one of her mother's, which wouldn't surprise Mella. She and Cersei were of a similar size, but Mella was wary now. Her mother only gave away her old dresses if it was a special occasion. She hoped that her parents hadn't found some handsome young nobleman they planned to show her off to. Mella cringed at the very thought.

She allowed Alyss to pull the laces of the dress tight, and brush out her dark hair. Alyss's nimble fingers worked at plaiting it, but Mella caught her wrist and shook her head. She got tired of having to spend a near half hour dressing every morning. Alyss fastened a crimson and gold pendant around Mella's throat. The princess caught sight of the bloody stone in her reflection when Alyss pulled up the mirror, and she grimaced inwardly.

"What exactly is the special occasion, Alyss?" Mella inquired. In the three weeks they'd spent making their way north, she didn't think she had once been woken up early, not even when her father had decided he wanted to go hunting. The hunt left just before midday, sometimes with Joffrey in tow, sometimes leaving the prince behind, fuming.

"I don't know, my lady," Alyss confessed as she led Mella outside. "I believe it's something to do with our arrival in Winterfell."

The princess could feel the chill of the north beginning to creep up on her, and she hugged herself to try and shut out some of the cold. She was starting to miss warm King's Landing, where the humidity was enough to make her drowsy some of the time.

"Mella, there you are, sweetling." Cersei was all smiles as she approached her daughter, which made Mella wary. Her mother had made it obvious she didn't approve of this venture north, to make Eddard Stark the Hand of the King. Besides, Cersei did not dote upon Mella as much as she did the rest of her children. It made Mella feel unwanted and slightly sad, like her mother did not really want her, especially when the other three were often spoiled rotten and she became more of an afterthought to Cersei rather than anything else.

"There you two are." Robert smiled as he saw his daughter. Although Mella had been trying to deny it for years, she was clearly Robert's favourite, his dark-haired daughter that reminded him so much of himself when he had been young. He was warm and affectionate to few people, but Mella was one of them. Even Cersei simmered with resentment due to the attention Robert paid his oldest child, the sort of attention that she never garnered.

"What's going on?" Mella inquired, glancing between her parents. There was joy in Robert's eyes, the sort of enthusiasm that Mella had not seen sparkling there since she'd been a young child. These days, even tourneys failed to excite her father. Cersei's mouth twisted slightly, the bitterness sinking back in.

"We will be in Winterfell sooner than expected," Robert boomed the words out heartily, leaving his daughter more than aware that he was excited at the prospect of seeing Ned again, like two young boys being reunited. However, there was no warmth in Winterfell for Mella, only coldness there like was in her mother's eyes and heart.

A member of the Kingsguard, Ser Meryn Trant, opened the door to the carriage to allow Mella to enter the carriage. Mella had never much liked Meryn Trant. He was one of the few people whose emotions were hard for her to read. Not even his eyes gave an indication of what he was feeling.

"Robert expects us to ride through the day and night to get there." Cersei's tone was sour as she clambered into the carriage beside her oldest daughter. Across from them, Tommen and Myrcella sat in silence, their eyes too innocent and their ears too young to understand the fighting that occurred between their parents. Mella had always attempted to shield them, yet Winterfell seemed to have created the greatest, most bitter divide yet.


	2. The Stag's Predicament

Chapter Two: The Stag's Predicament

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**A/N: Wow. I just have to say, thank you so much, you guys are amazing. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. Also, I am going away tomorrow and won't be back until 13****th**** January. I should have internet in some places and therefore be able to update, however it won't be as frequent as I'd like. I hope you all are able to bear with me!**

**Also, if you have read the books, I would love if you checked out my story Poison and Wine. Also, don't forget to vote at the Game of Thrones Christmas Awards 2012! A link can be found on my profile.**

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The closer they drew to Winterfell, the tighter Mella's stomach seemed to coil, until it felt like her insides were a spring. Pressed right up against the window, she could feel the cold chill of the northern air against her skin. She shivered, although if it was from the frigid air or apprehension, she didn't know. The landscape too was different from the south, although that she rather appreciated. She winced as Alyss worked a final braid into her hair, but in reality Mella was fully aware of her mother's eyes on her, judging her.

"You would do well to keep your composure amongst these northerners, darling," Cersei informed her daughter, the word 'northerners' coming out as though it tasted sour in her mouth. "Starks are known for their quick tempers, so you would do well to be wary of them. Your father might trust Ned Stark and his honour, but we have yet to meet their children."

Mella fretted about this slightly. What if the Starks didn't like her, and she was forced to resign herself to spending time only with her siblings? Her ladies had been discussing how handsome Robb Stark was rumoured to be, but this only left the princess feeling wary. Was her mother planning some sort of betrothal between her daughter and the heir of Winterfell? It seemed unlikely, considering how much Cersei disliked the north and the Starks. There had always been bitterness between the Starks and the Lannisters, of which Mella had only become recently aware.

Mella stared upwards as their carriage was drawn through Winterfell, underneath the portcullis and into the courtyard in front of Winterfell's cold stone castle. She rather wished she could be on horseback like her father and brother Joffrey, however Cersei had scoffed at such a notion and insisted that her oldest daughter ride with her in the comfort of the carriage. Mella wouldn't exactly call it comfort – she had been twisting her hands in the blood-red skirts of her dress the entire time.

She watched as the assembled congregation sank to her knees as Robert rode into the courtyard, requiring a box to dismount his horse thanks to his impressive weight. Mella might have found the situation slightly amusing if everyone else wasn't being so serious about it. It was only when Robert motioned with a gloved hand for Ned Stark and the others to rise that Cersei called for the servants to open the doors of their carriage.

"You grace," Ned Stark muttered, inclining his head. As she descended the steps onto even ground, Mella could hardly see the supposed friendship between her father and the lord of Winterfell. Both of them seemed as stiff and cold as the castle walls.

"You've got fat," Robert replied bluntly, a comment which made Mella smother her mortification. Even if she was the princess, she would never dare speak to anyone, especially a friend of hers, in such a manner. However, Ned simply indicated Robert's own massive stomach, causing the pair of them to burst out laughing like young boys and embrace like brothers, and the tension that held thick over the courtyard to dissolve.

Cersei gestured for her children to follow her as she crossed the courtyard to the Starks. Her expression was not a pleased one – Mella could tell that her mother wasn't even going to attempt a smile for these people. She followed her mother over, acutely aware of how painfully different she was to her mother and siblings. Joffrey dismounted his horse and sauntered over, causing the pretty red-haired girl – who Mella thought must be Sansa – to blush lightly as his eyes raked over her.

"These must be your children." Ned smiled benevolently at them.

"May I present Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen, and Mella." Cersei indicated the four children in turn, leaving her oldest daughter with resigned acceptance at being the last one mentioned. It was such a common occurrence that it hardly stung anymore. The queen's tone was never anything but curt, however either Ned didn't notice it, or simply chose to ignore it.

"Welcome to Winterfell. I truly hope that you will be in comfort here for the duration of your stay."

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"Are you out of your mind?" Cersei demanded, pacing the rooms that she and Robert were to share. They were far smaller than her apartments in King's Landing, the décor far grimmer. It was none of those things that made anger flash through Cersei's green eyes, however. Her slender hands were clenched into fists as she confronted her husband. It was enough that he had dragged their entire family to bleak Winterfell, but now it seemed that Robert had yet other ideas.

"Oh, for the love of the Seven, woman." Robert's tone was impatient. He and his wife argued on a regular basis, however he thought Cersei would have been pleased at the prospect of betrothing their oldest child. "Ned and I have always spoken about joining our houses. Mella is sixteen, Robb is seventeen. They are both of an age to wed. She will be wife of the lord of Winterfell, the Warden of the North! How is that such a disagreeable prospect?"

"You would sell off my daughter!" Cersei exclaimed indignantly. "Ask Ned Stark for _his_ daughter, betroth Sansa to Joffrey. I don't want any child of mine having to stay here and suffer in this bitter cold, Robert. You know how I feel about the Starks…"

"I know how your _father_ feels about the Starks," Robert corrected irritably, his face reddening as their verbal battle continued. Gods, he wasn't made for such things as haughty wives and betrothing children. He loved Mella fiercely too – she was his oldest, the only child he could seem to connect with – and yet, her station as a princess of Westeros made her a very desirable match. Why not marry her into House Stark, a family that Robert knew and trusted, rather than for some alliance with another distant house?

"I forbid it," Cersei said coldly, tilting her chin up.

"Forbid it, do you?" Robert inquired, a mix of annoyance and amusement lacing his tone. "I am the _king_. You can't forbid me from doing a damn thing. But if you are really so worked up about this whole thing, then yes, I will talk to Ned about Sansa and Joffrey. However, considering that Ned and most of his family – with the exception of likely Robb, who will stay here in Winterfell – will accompany us to King's Landing, I think it's only fair we show them the same courtesy they are showing us."

Cersei watched her husband, slightly confused. "What do you mean?"

"I think it would suit us nicely to leave Mella as a ward of Winterfell." Robert could see Cersei beginning to protest, and he raised a hand to make her lapse into silence. "Be quiet, woman. It would only be for a year. I think there's a great deal more about the north our daughter could learn than what her septas and maesters teach her."

"You are hoping she will fall in love with Robb Stark," Cersei replied sourly, beginning to see how Robert's mind was working, "That if she stays here with him, the two will marry eventually in any case. This isn't the same as you and Lyanna, Robert…"

"Don't talk about her," Robert growled, a menacing light entering his eyes that made Cersei fall silent once more. "If they wed then they wed, dammit. Mella is old enough now to stay here without her family, just as Robb is old enough to remain without his while he keeps charge of Winterfell in his father's stead."

Cersei's mind began working to, like a clock ticking down time. With Mella in the north, she would have a member of her own family watching over the Stark family's best interests, someone who wasn't Robert and who didn't naively trust in them because of some boyhood friendship. She could still send Mella ravens, getting her daughter to inform her of exactly what Robb Stark was doing, for Cersei was a Lannister through and through, and so did not trust the Starks at all. Perhaps the arrangement would suit Cersei better than she thought, although she made no comment of this to Robert.

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Mella sat in stony disapproval as Alyss and another lady-in-waiting, the opinionated Livia, worked her hair into an elegant knot above her head. Her posture was stiff and despite the fact that the others were gossiping excitedly about the much-awaited evening feast, Mella could feel nothing but the simmering resentment that washed off her in waves. She sat very still as Alyss and Livia chattered about several young men about Winterfell that they found good-looking, yet Mella couldn't care less.

Her father had come to her a few hours earlier and informed her that she was to be fostered at Winterfell, a ward of the Starks. Perhaps Robert had expected his oldest daughter to be pleased, yet it had taken all of Mella's self-control not to tug off the stupid necklace that he'd given her for her sixteenth name-day and throw it at the wall. How was that even remotely fair? Her brother Joffrey had been betrothed to Sansa, and Mella pitied the girl…yet there was no betrothal for her, only the hollow notion of being a ward.

"It's only for a small while," Robert had convinced her upon noting her sullen silence. "Besides, you won't be alone. Ned's boy, Robb, is only a year or so older than you."

If that was supposed to be some sort of consolation, it was a very small one. The north was so vast, and cold, and empty. The prospect of being separated from her family was not a welcome one, and when her father had tried to kiss her cheek and tuck back a strand of her dark hair like he had done to appease her when she'd been little, but Mella had only shifted away from him. She barely even knew the Starks. What if they didn't like her?

"Mella…" Robert had sighed.

"Get out of my room." Mella's tone had been as icy as the frosty northern region they had come to. "I need to prepare for the feast."

How could her father forsake her in such a manner? Did she really mean so little to him? It had no doubt been an incentive for Ned Stark to accept the position as Hand of the King. Mella had always believed that she had been Robert's favourite, everyone always had…yet now, it certainly didn't seem like it. She would be left in the frigid north along with Robb Stark, perhaps even Lady Catelyn and the younger ones if the venture south proved too much for them. It wasn't an enticing concept.

Was it selfish of her, to feel so annoyed? All she wanted was to remain with her family. They didn't always get along, and she especially didn't like Joffrey, but she would prefer to bicker with him in King's Landing than be away from them all in Winterfell. What was there for her in the cold north? Did Robert see an impending marriage of some sort? The notion made Mella flounder, for no doubt it was Robb her father would see fit to marry her to, in order to join their houses.

"What did you think of the Starks, my lady?" Livia asked of her, bringing her from her petulant reverie as her soft fingers worked at rubbing scented oils on the princess's arms. The sharp smell of roses invaded Mella's nose. She tried not to grimace at the scent. It was lovely, but very overpowering.

"They were all very nice," Mella murmured in response, not really wanting to delve into detail – but in her mind, she was still recollecting the introductions.

Lord Stark was a pleasant man, although the years had rendered him rather haggard. According to court gossip, Ned had a strict sense of honour and justice. He was such a contrast to her father – Mella knew all about Robert's drinking and whoring, despite her mother's attempts to conceal such unseemly matters from her – that Mella wondered how they could possibly be best friends. Lord Stark had greeted Mella kindly, stating that he had never met her before, but she looked so like Robert.

Lady Stark was still lovely despite the years, with the famous red hair and sharp blue eyes of her house. She had responded a little stiffly to Mella, as she had to Cersei. Mella guessed that Lady Stark was no doubt wary of the southerners after spending so much time in the north, and she had felt a little guilty by intruding on the good lady's hospitality. Lady Stark had not asked to house over two hundred guests for a month.

The youngest two children, Rickon and Bran, both strongly resembled their father with his dark hair and dark eyes. Mella had taken to them immediately, as Tommen was of a similar age to Bran and she had always doted upon her soft-hearted younger brother. The younger girl, Arya, also resembled her father, although she had her mother's eyes.

Sansa Stark, the girl that Mella was sure she would befriend, was like a younger apparition of her mother. She was indeed a beauty, and when she had greeted Mella, she had been very gracious despite her shyness. Mella wondered how the poor girl would cope with being betrothed to Joffrey, although she hadn't missed the approving glance the two had shared upon the royal entourage's entry into Winterfell.

Then there had been Robb Stark. He was perhaps a year Mella's senior, and he was indeed as handsome as Alyss had predicted. He also favoured his mother's colouring, although his hair was rather darker, close to black. Robb had kissed Mella's hand, but she was aware that it was a mere polite gesture, and of course thought nothing of it.

"What about that Theon Greyjoy?" Alyss gasped rather excitedly as she pinned the loose ends of Mella's hair. "I was speaking to some of the ladies earlier, and apparently he is _quite_ the womanizer. I have to admit, he's handsome enough."

Theon Greyjoy was the Starks' ward, and he had been standing behind the family along with Ned's bastard son, Jon Snow. He had lazily eyed many of the girls in the royal congregation, but Mella had been more amused than insulted. She knew many young women would frown upon Theon's boldness, but she found it more refreshing than reserved manners and smiles that didn't reach eyes.

"You shouldn't be speaking of him in front of the princess," Livia chastised. She was older than Alyss, in her mid-twenties and married to Ser Donnal Swann. By Mella's standards, she was quite worldly. "She doesn't want to be hearing about the infidelities of the Starks' ward. How about that young Robb Stark. My, if I wasn't a married woman…"

Mella sighed, breathing in deeply as Livia and Alyss fussed about tightening her corset. She didn't really want to think about the Starks for some reason. She would rather think of home, of the tourneys and the feasts, of the gossip and of the sweet summer _heat._ She feared that she would freeze to death in the icy north, or else die of loneliness. Of course, Robert would permit several of her ladies to stay – but married women like Livia would accompany their husbands back to King's Landing.

"He will be escorting you in to the feast tonight, my lady," Alyss babbled rather excitedly, her eyes wide at the prospect.

_The feast._ As if Mella could forget. An event that once might have excited her now seemed so dreadfully dull. All she could seem to think about was the fact that she was condemned to the north. In King's Landing, they had dancers and singers and fools at feasts. She doubted it was the same in Winterfell. She closed her eyes and sat patiently as her ladies fussed about her dress, her hair, her jewellery.

Why did it matter what she looked like? It wasn't as though she was going to be charming anyone, and these northerners would think her far too extravagant. Perhaps they would only view her as a spoiled, pampered princess and treat her accordingly. Was that the sort of impression she wished to leave upon the family who would be fostering her for the next year or so?

Mella tried to look on the positive side. Perhaps the feast would prove a chance for her to get to know the Stark family. Maybe she could warm up to them. It would be lovely to become close to Lady Stark and the boys, who would be staying in Winterfell when Ned and the royal entourage departed.

"There now." Alyss sounded impressed with her work as she tugged Mella to her feet, guiding the princess across to the full-length mirror that had been set up in the girl's room. Mella thought the Starks must think her awfully vain with such a mirror, not that it had been her choice. Alyss had insisted, and as usual, Mella didn't have the heart to shatter her romantic illusions. "Don't you look stunning, my lady."

She did. Her black hair was bound back in an elegant bun at the top of her head, with two thin strands hanging loose by her ears either side. Sapphires glittered in her ears, and more at her throat as Livia's slim fingers fastened a silver-chained necklace around her neck. Her dress was of the southern style, as Cersei had stubbornly insisted upon it, a beautiful dress of deep blue with silver accents. It was more low-cut than she was pleased with, and it clung to the curves of her body in a way that made Mella certain her mother _wanted_ her to attract attention.

"I do," Mella admitted quietly. Her mother had often taught her there was nothing to be gained by false modesty. In fact, Mella remembered a rare moment she had shared with her mother soon after her thirteenth name-day. A young lord had complimented Mella, comparing her dark hair to raven's wings and her grey eyes to storm clouds. She had flushed a bright red and of course denied that she was beautiful.

"Let them compliment you," Cersei had told her daughter later, tucking a strand of dark hair behind Mella's ear, "You are beautiful, Mella, surely you see that. Beauty is a woman's weapon, did you know that? If you are beautiful, they will all fall at your feet to do your bidding. Remember that, sweetling. One day your beauty will fade, and you would be best to use it while it lasts."

Mella knew that she would feel guilty if she attempted to manipulate men using her beauty. Her mother may be content to use her good looks to charm others and get what she wanted, but Mella had always been rather more self-conscious. She would be embarrassed attempting to flirt with young men. What if they laughed her down? Not _all_ men would be susceptible to the charms of a young woman.

"Oh, all eyes will be on you tonight, my lady!" Alyss exclaimed excitedly, earning a scathing look from Livia.

"Don't be stupid, Alyss. The princess is most beautiful, but there are other lovely young women bound to earn attention tonight as well. Take the lady Sansa for example. She may be thirteen, but anyone can see that she will become a beautiful woman."

Mella thought it be wonderful to be a wolf. She was a stag. There was nothing exactly awe-inspiring about being called a stag. The Stag of the South-East…no, it didn't quite have the same ring to it. For Mella, being kind was often a chore. There had been many times when she would have preferred to say something honest, and been chastised for not holding her tongue. Cersei had also told Mella that men wanted women to be seen, but not heard.

"Are you ready, my lady?" Alyss asked, holding out a hand.

Mella took one last look at herself in the mirror. Yes, she was beautiful, but she would be even more so if she actually attempted to smile and be happy. She was determined that she would put aside her disappointment at becoming a ward at Winterfell and have a brilliant time at the feast tonight. However, things are often more easily said than done.


	3. Hear My Fury

Chapter Three: Hear My Fury

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**A/N: Just...wow. I am amazed at how many of you wonderful people have taken an interest in this story! I hope this update satisfies you for now; I promise a longer one when I next get internet as I'm still overseas. Also, if you have read the books, please check out Poison and Wine, an Aegon/OC story I'm writing.**

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The hall was a whirl of colour as people spun in circles, dancing and laughing. Mella felt like a completely separate entity, like she was only observing life rather than being a part of it. She was only a watcher, noticing what was happening around her but making no effort to join in. She sighed and leaned back in her seat, as her brother Joffrey sat beside her with a petulant scowl, sipping from his wine goblet. At the beginning of the feast, perhaps she wouldn't have questioned him, but the wine and her own annoyance had made her bold.

"What seems to be the problem, brother?"

"None of the northern girls have asked me to dance," Joffrey complained, taking another sip of his wine. Mella felt a sting of irritation run through her. Of course, Joffrey would whinge about anything and everything. She rolled her eyes and sighed heavily, folding her arms across her chest. She was supposed to be at least _trying_ to enjoy the feast, but Joffrey made that harder than ever. A nasty smile crossed his lips. "I suppose I'm not the only one. None of the northern boys have asked you to dance, have they? Such a shame..."

"Shut up, Joffrey," Mella snapped, rising to her younger brother's bait magnificently and earning a smug smile from him. "I don't feel like dancing, in any case. Besides, _you _are supposed to ask girls to dance, not the other way around. Perhaps you should see if Sansa will honour you with a dance."

Joffrey seemed to consider this a good idea, because he clambered to his feet and walked away from the table in search of the pretty auburn-haired girl. Mella relaxed, because although she was now alone at the table, it was preferable to having to bear her loathsome brother's presence. She watched Bran dancing with Myrcella and a smile spread across her lips. At least her younger siblings were having fun.

"Why are you here all by yourself?" Mella glanced around to see that it was Robb Stark speaking to her, that he now occupied the seat that Joffrey had left. She offered him a polite smile. She would have to befriend Robb, as he would be Lord of Winterfell in his father's absence. He had escorted her in to the feast and he seemed to be a nice enough young man, if only because he had learned courtly manners from his parents. Mella had thought him handsome, but then again, so were many young noblemen.

"Sometimes I prefer my own company," Mella confessed, before she realized how antisocial she sounded and amended her words with a smile. "I mean to say, the feast is wonderful, but my brother's mood seems to be rubbing off on me as well."

"I'm guessing that mood is not a good one," Robb chuckled. Mella smiled demurely and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. She already felt that she had said too much, and it wasn't polite of her to talk about Joffrey in such a manner. Her courtly conduct was slipping. Perhaps it was due to her dismay at becoming a ward in Winterfell, but that was no excuse. She was a princess and she would continue to behave as such. "Perhaps you'd do the honour of dancing with me, my lady?"

Mella was a little astonished by the offer, yet she was pleased at the same time. Perhaps the northerners were taking well to her after all – either that, or Robb was kindly attempting to help her fit in, considering that she was going to be a ward in Winterfell. Either way, she saw the opportunity to interact with someone her own age, and she took Robb's hand. The beat was slow but the music was sultry, and Mella wondered if this was considered a rather raunchy song in the north. Colour flared in her cheeks.

Robb put one arm around her slender waist and took her hand in his. Mella noticed how much bigger his hands were than hers, but she turned her mind from the matter immediately, putting her free hand on his shoulder. Mella allowed Robb to take the lead, and she was very grateful when he valiantly attempted to take up a conversation.

"Do you dance a lot in the south, my lady?"

"Please, it's just Mella," she assured him. She had never really been one for titles or distinction of rank. In King's Landing, the dances were a lot less contact-friendly. The pair would place their palms together at the very most, but it would appear that things were different here in Winterfell. In fact, the last person Mella had danced with had been her second cousin, Lancel Lannister, and he had been afraid to so much as touch her for fear that Robert would have his head. "We do, but our dances are far different."

The difference in styles made Mella acutely aware of Robb's arm around her waist, of his fingers interlinked with hers. Of course it was just a dance – but she was grateful for the fact that he would think the spots of colour in her cheeks from dancing rather than because of their closeness. Mella allowed Robb to spin her, catching her with both arms to steady her before taking her hand in his again.

"Different how?" Robb inquired, his bright blue eyes seeming to bore into her. Mella forced herself to surrender to the beat of the music, to feel it pulsing within her. She needed to focus on something other than her close proximity to the heir of Winterfell, because she was growing flustered and as a princess, being flustered was not at all becoming. She let Robb twirl her again.

"There's just a lot less contact involved in southern dances," Mella admitted. Robb's eyes widened slightly and he drew his arm back from around her waist, taking a step back. Clearly, he thought he had offended her. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, looking rather embarrassed.

"My apologies. I wasn't aware...you should have just told me that I was being forward."

Mella couldn't help the surprised laugh that escaped her. "You weren't being forward. It was just a dance."

"Of course." Robb inclined his head to her. "If you'll excuse me, Mella, I have to sort out my younger brother. It would appear that Bran is refusing to go to bed when told and I'll have to do something about it."

Mella nodded, watching as Robb turned and walked away. Her stomach suddenly wriggled with guilt, although she wasn't sure why. She hadn't done anything wrong by Robb, yet somehow she felt as though she had. Was it the thought of conforming to something her parents might want for her?

"I think you've made quite an impression on the Young Wolf." Cersei placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder, smiling sweetly and tucking a strand of dark hair behind Mella's ear. The princess immediately flushed. If her own mother thought there was something transpiring between her and Robb...

"It was only a dance, Mother."

Cersei laughed and tossed back her blonde hair in a manner which made Mella feel very small. It was the same laugh she'd heard since she was a little girl, the mirthless kind which Cersei made to assure Mella that she'd got something wrong. Mella averted her eyes, feeling rather stupid as Cersei leaned in and kissed her cheek affectionately.

"Mella, sweetling, he is a boy of seventeen. He no doubt finds you beautiful – what sane man wouldn't? – and you can use that to your advantage."

Mella felt her stomach drop. Was that the real reason her father wanted her to stay in the north? Were Robert and Cersei hinting at a marriage between her and Robb in the near future? She barely even knew the boy. Suddenly, the feast seemed to have lost all its appeal for her, and all Mella wanted to do was go to bed.

"Mother, please. I have no wish to marry him."

"Marriage?" Cersei looked surprised, and then she gave that mirthless laugh of hers again. "Darling, whoever said anything about marriage? Just because you bed a man, it doesn't mean that you have to marry him."

Mella understood the implications all too clearly. Her mother wanted her to sleep with Robb Stark but not marry him, and Mella had the sickening feeling that Cersei wanted her to spy on the Starks. To achieve what end? Mella didn't view them as at all threatening, but perhaps she was wrong. She gnawed at her lip, watching as Joffrey kissed Sansa's hand and the red-haired girl giggled delightedly. Her head was spinning and she thought perhaps she might have had too much to drink.

"I think I might go up to bed," Mella murmured, uncertain of whether her mother had heard her or not. She drifted through the feast as if in a dream. Cersei hadn't been happy about Robert leaving Mella in the north, yet now it seemed that the queen was trying to manipulate the situation to suit her. Well, Mella wasn't content to be a pawn of her mother's will. She was not a child anymore, and she didn't have to listen if she didn't want to. She was shocked that Cersei would even suggest such a thing. She was a princess of Westeros, not a whore. She wouldn't sleep with any man for information, not even if he was as handsome as Robb Stark. Was that all she was for? Was that all she meant to her parents? Being a woman was a terrifying thing indeed if all it meant was having to please a man.

"My lady?" It was Theon Greyjoy, the one her ladies had warned her about. He was a terrible flirt and a notorious womanizer, and they had told her it would be best to stay away from him. But now he approached Mella with concern shining in his eyes, and she knew it would be rude to tell him to leave her alone. "My lady, are you alright? You don't look well."

"I'm fine, thank you," Mella replied, but Theon's concerns had brought an another unwanted presence. Joffrey sauntered across to his older sister and threw Theon a rather contemptuous glance, feigning brotherly protection as he put a hand on Mella's arm.

"I'll thank you to stop harassing my sister, Greyjoy," Joffrey stated disdainfully, "I will speak to my sister myself, if you don't mind."

Once Theon had inclined his head and walked away, Joffrey whirled Mella around to face him, his green eyes full of irritation – yet Mella herself was annoyed. She had not asked for her brother's interference, and none she knew that he would push the blame onto her, as though she had wanted him to help.

"What is the matter with you?" Joffrey snapped at her, his face furrowing into a scowl of disapproval. "Must you act like such a brat because you're having to stay in the north? You're spoiling things between my lady and I. Sansa keeps asking if you are alright, and she shouldn't. She should be asking about _me._"

His selfishness struck her like a slap to the face. She knew that her brother was a horrid brat a lot of the time, but this was just taking it too far. It wasn't Mella's fault that Sansa wasn't asking about Joffrey. She hated how he managed to pin the blame for everything back on her. Just like when they had been young and Joffrey had fallen from a tree and broken his arm. He had blamed Mella because she'd climbed up there first.

That was when her temper boiled over. Not only did she have Cersei's plotting to worry about, but now she had Joffrey's accusations as well. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging little crescents into the palms of her hands. Oh, how she would dearly love to hit him...yet she knew how unseemly that would be. Ladies never hit.

"You self-absorbed little snot," Mella hissed at him under her breath, causing Joffrey's eyes to widen in shock. "Do you ever think of anyone but yourself? No, of course not. Stupid question, really. Well perhaps you might consider Sansa about herself, rather than waiting for everyone to flock to you, you egocentric little..."

She shook her head. No, she wouldn't finish that sentence. She was a young lady and she was already dangerously close to losing all semblance of composure. Shaking her head furiously, Mella turned and stalked out of the feast, wiping away the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. She kept trying to remind herself that she was a princess, that she was strong...but it didn't seem to matter, because she still felt so very miserable.


	4. Wooden Swords

Chapter Four: Wooden Swords

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**A/N: Okay, so I'm not so sure about this chapter...but thank you all for reading and reviewing, and I promise next chapter will be better than this!**

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"I can hardly believe it!" Sansa's tone was bubbling with excitement as she and Mella took another turn around the castle, her arm linked through the princess's. Mella had scarcely been in Winterfell for a day, yet she had already decided that it may be wise to befriend Sansa Stark, especially as the younger girl was to become the future queen through her betrothal to Joffrey. "We are going to be sisters someday. Isn't that marvellous? I always wondered what it might be like."

So had Mella, yet she was gaining another younger sister from her brother's betrothal. Sansa's head was full of romantic notions, and she was rather like Alyss. She had told Mella a million times at least how lucky she was to have such a handsome, gallant younger brother. Mella dearly wished that could hit some sense into Sansa, or perhaps it would be kinder to simply tell her what Joffrey was _really_ like. Yet Mella hadn't the heart to tell Sansa the truth. Sometimes, it was kinder to lie.

The dull thump of clashing wood and the jeering and shouting of young men reached Mella's ears. She extricated her arm from Sansa's and walked across to the balcony, leaning over to see the commotion below. It would appear that Robb and Joffrey, along with several other high-ranking young men, were participating in feats of swordplay in the courtyard below. Her grey eyes lit up with amusement as Robb managed to score a strike on Joffrey's arm.

"Come." Mella walked back over to Sansa, who was milling around a little uncertainly. She linked her arm through the younger girl's once more. "It would appear that our brothers are attempting to find out who is the more masculine of them."  
Mella thought it would be rather entertaining to watch the boys trying to outdo each other in the courtyard. She knew that Joffrey had a sword of his own, a real one – but she also knew that he had no clue how to use it. The thought of him attempting to slash Robb Stark to ribbons with a wooden sword was indeed an amusing one, because Joffrey would have no idea how to in the first place. Mella would hazard a guess that her younger brother knew more about sewing than he did swordplay.

They reached the courtyard to muttered cursing and laughter. Mella descended the steps one at a time, watching as Robb drove her brother back with apparent ease. Joffrey was scowling and hammering wild, aimless blows at the older boy. Robb parried them effortlessly and after a few more moments of wood clashing and nearly splintering, Joffrey dropped his sword, spitting curses. Triumphant, Robb pressed the blade of his wooden sword to the prince's throat, to cheers from the Stark observers.

"Robb won." Mella observed aloud, walking across towards a clearly content Robb and a sullen Joffrey. She offered Robb a smile which he returned, and she was glad that he wasn't still embarrassed as he had been the previous night. Joffrey, however, seemed to remember all too well the words his sister had hurled at him last night. He glowered at her with angry, glittering green eyes – although whether he was angry at her, or the fact that he had lost to Robb, Mella did not know.

"My lady." Robb inclined his head to her. "I wasn't aware that you were coming to join in with swordplay."

He was teasing her, Mella knew. His blue eyes were glimmering and he was still cocky about his victory over Joffrey. Two could play at his game. Mella raised her eyebrows and allowed a smile to grace her lips.

"Oh, I might be a welcome change from my dear brother. I may not be adept at handling a sword, but you have my word that I would be better than Joffrey."

This raised a few laughs from those present, although Mella knew that it was a dangerous game she insisted on playing. Joffrey's eyes narrowed, a nerve twitching in his forehead. She smiled sweetly at her younger brother, and as she expected, he backed down. He stalked past her, deliberately knocking her as he stomped up the steps and out of sight. Sansa examined Mella, surprised, but if she was expecting a reaction from the princess, she got none.

Robb picked up the wooden sword that Joffrey had cast down, glancing at it consideringly. There was mirth sparkling in his eyes as he tossed the sword to Mella. She hadn't expected to have a wooden weapon tossed at her, and she fumbled, blushing furiously as the sword clattered to the ground. Was Robb deliberately attempting to embarrass her in front of all of these people?

"I had your word, my lady. Don't you wish to cross swords?"

He was bolder than he had been last night. Mella supposed it must be the presence of other men that lulled him into a false sense of security. She smiled and picked up the wooden sword. Of course, she knew very little about swordplay. Since she had been young, she had attempted to convince her uncle Jaime to teach her, but he had always told her that swords were not weapons used by a young lady, especially not a princess. Nevertheless, there was no harm in having a little fun. If she was going to be staying in Winterfell, she would have to learn to enjoy herself around the Starks.

"Princess Mella?" Sansa sounded startled. "He's only jesting, my lady. You don't _really_ have to..."

"It's alright, Sansa," Mella laughed lightly, waving off her concerns. Robb looked rather surprised as she held the wooden sword with both hands. Clearly, he hadn't expected her to take his words seriously. She raised her eyebrows and Robb hesitated, but before either of them could move, someone was calling out from the balcony.

"My lady!"

Mella whirled around, the sword dropping from her hand. She had no doubt that it was her, and when she looked up, she noticed that it was her uncle Jaime standing watching her with an impassive expression on her face. She felt guilty, like a child who had been caught scoffing sweets. She flushed and glanced across at Robb.

"Forgive me, Robb. I'm being summoned. I suppose I shall see you later."

Robb inclined his head. "I look forward to it, my lady."

Mella gathered her dress and walked up the stairs with as much dignity as she could muster. Her uncle was there, clad in the white of the Kingsguard, leaning against the balcony railing as Mella approached. Jaime inspected his niece with a weary expression, before he gestured to the courtyard.

"Would you care to explain that little spectacle, Mella?"

She no longer felt like a young lady, or even a ward of Winterfell. She felt like a little girl being chastised for something she had done wrong, and she hated it. However, she was going to act maturely about it. Mella took a deep breath and met Jaime's eyes. She hadn't done anything wrong, not really.

"I wasn't serious. I just...it was just a wooden sword..."

"You know swords aren't a woman's weapon," Jaime reminded her. He didn't yell at her like her father did when he was angry, or even snap like her mother did. Jaime didn't even show anger, because Mella doubted he ever really was angry. There was just a sort of calm disinterest, and it scared her a little, because she didn't really know how he felt about the situation. "You should be lucky that it's me who caught you at it and not your mother."

Of course. Cersei would say that she shouldn't run around like some harridan, that was of far too high a station to even consider using weapons. She had guards trained to protect her, so what was the need in learning to handle a dagger? Mella just thought it must be useful to know even slightly how to defend herself. What would happen if one day her guards failed? All her courtly manners wouldn't save her then. A sword, though...a sword would. Maybe even a dagger would suffice.

"I wasn't doing anything wrong, I was just..."

"I saw what happened, Mella," Jaime sighed, raking a hand through his golden hair, "Just because the Stark boy challenges you, it doesn't mean you have to take him up on it. You're just like you're father when it comes to that."

Mella took his words like a slap to the face. The way Jaime spoke about her father...it was almost negative, like he thought that being like Robert was a bad thing. Mella would have scowled at him, had she not been brought up better. He never spoke like that about Cersei, but that was because Mella could tell her uncle disapproved of Robert's drunk, often ill-mannered ways, and Cersei was his twin. Mella often wondered if he saw Robert when he looked at her, Robert in a girl's form.

She was sorely tempted to burst out all the things she was feeling. _Did you know my mother plans for me to stay so that I can bed Robb Stark and spy on him?_ The thought still revolted her. She was a princess, not a whore. She was here to be fostered, and even that situation, her mother was attempting to take advantage of. It made Mella feel rather embarrassed. She wondered whether Robert knew of Cersei's schemes.

Mella glanced down at the courtyard. Robb had now taken up his wooden sword against his bastard brother, Jon Snow. Rumour had it that Jon would be leaving for the wall when his uncle Benjen did. Mella felt that if even bastard boys had more freedom than she did, something was wrong. How she wished she'd been born a boy sometimes. Then she might be down there with the others, practising swordplay. She would be the heir to the throne instead of Joffrey. Not that she wanted a crown...all she wanted was the liberty of choosing her own fate. Instead she would be married off to some high-ranking nobleman, for duty more than anything.

"They fight well," Jaime observed, noticing that Mella's gaze was trained on the courtyard once more. "Better than your brother, certainly. But somehow I don't think it's their fighting style that you're watching so closely."

Mella felt a blush creeping up in her cheeks. She could tell, because her face had suddenly grown hot. Was she flushing because of the insinuations her uncle Jaime had made, or because they were true? She glanced down at the boys in the courtyard, trying to decipher her own emotions. Just because she'd danced with Robb, it didn't mean she was suddenly in love with him. She drew her dignity around her like a cloak.

"I think you presume too much, Uncle Jaime. I barely know Robb Stark. I don't know why you and Mother insist on believing that I'm head-over-heels in love with him. Perhaps I'm just trying to befriend him because I am to be a ward in Winterfell..."

Mella trailed off when she noticed that Jaime's gaze was directed behind her shoulder. She turned to notice that Robb and Jon had ascended the stairs and were standing mere feet away. They must have heard everything that she had just said, yet Mella still strived not to blush tomato red. She didn't think she had ever been more mortified in her life, yet she was a princess of Westeros and she would not flee.

"Robb. Jon." She smothered her complete horror and forced a gracious smile, just as she had been taught to do. Cersei had always told her, no matter what happened, she must keep composed. There was a rather astonished look on Robb's face, and Jon looked as though he was trying not to smile. "I'm off to lunch with your sister Sansa now. You must excuse me."

Mella turned and walked off at as brisk a pace as she dared, although she wished that she could scream and kick a wall. How embarrassing! Robb must have heard the whole thing, and underneath that civil demeanour, he must be cringing. He probably though her a fool, to fall for him after knowing him a day...and she _hadn't_ fallen for him. Why did everyone think that? She was only still getting to know him.

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It had been some time since Mella had ridden on horseback, and she was glad for it. The part that she wasn't glad for was that Robb would be accompanying them on their ride, which was more of a tour of Winterfell than anything else. She had to smother her utter embarrassment, as she had not spoken to him since he had caught her saying those awfully outspoken things. Therefore, Mella deliberately kept her horse walking at a slow pace at the back of the riding party, while Robb rode at the front, and Robb's siblings bickered and squalled in between. That was excluding Sansa, who kept her head held high.

Mella had chosen a practical dress for riding, a plain red garment with no jewels or accents. It was perhaps the simplest thing she owned, for she didn't want to ruin one of her best dresses if she somehow managed to embarrass herself further in front of Robb Stark. The only thing that could be more excruciating than his accidental intrusion on her conversation with her uncle would be if she managed to fall off her horse into the mud.

"It's a fine morning, my lady." Mella turned to see that Theon Greyjoy was riding beside her. Although many of the ladies often gossiped about his notorious reputation, and Mella herself hardly knew him, she didn't mind him. Perhaps it was because he had shown concern when she had been upset at the feast. "My apologies. I don't think we have been properly introduced. I'm Theon Greyjoy, ward of Winterfell."

"Mella Baratheon," she replied with the hint of a smile. "You must excuse me for my behaviour at the feast the other night; I wasn't quite myself."

Theon nodded, and a rather mischievous glint had entered his eyes. "Is your brother always that much of a prick?"

"_Theon_," Sansa snapped at him, turning and glowering over her shoulder at him. That was the problem that Mella found – Sansa was a delightful girl and a welcome friend, but if anyone spoke a word against Joffrey, she would become irritable. She supposed it was because Sansa was betrothed to Joffrey and wanted to see him as the sort of dashing prince he liked to pretend to be. "How dare you speak about him in that manner, and to Princess Mella no less!"

"I'm sorry, Sansa," Theon replied, but a grin crossed his face when Sansa turned back, and he lowered his voice, "For letting you hear."

Mella smothered laughter. In reality, she should not find Theon's behaviour amusing, but she was so used to the stiflingly boring court that his honesty was refreshing. She would love to tell him that yes, Joffrey was indeed...what he said he was. Only she was raised to be polite, so she would never say that about her own brother even if it was true.

"How are you finding Winterfell?" Theon inquired. If this was the sort of flirtation that her maids often spoke of, Mella didn't find it too blatant at all. She liked to see it as kindness, yet she could be wrong. There were all different manners of flirtation, as Cersei had taught her from a young age, and she was to be wary of all of them. She saw Robb chance a look over his shoulder at she and Theon – and he looked less than impressed. She offered him a somewhat hasty smile, but by that time he had already turned back to face the front.

The godswood in Winterfell was very different from anything Mella had seen in King's Landing. The trees were _old_ here; her mother had spoken disdainfully of the old gods the Starks still worshipped in the private sanctuary of their godswood. Admittedly, it sent shivers down Mella's spine. How was she to pray to the Seven, with only a small sept to do so? These northerners were indeed strange people, but she knew better than to voice her opinions on them.

"It's...very different from King's Landing," Mella replied, hoping that she had sounded polite rather than disdainful. Everything that had come out of Cersei's mouth since they had arrived in the frigid north sounded as though it was dripping with contempt. There was no love between the Starks and the Lannisters, Mella knew that much, yet she had thought as queen, Cersei would have tried a little harder to make a good impression.

"Never fear, my lady, we'll both be wards here." Theon flashed her a grin. "It's not all that bad."

He steered his horse with ease, seemingly knowing his way through the godswood by heart. Mella glanced around and thought that all of the trees looked much the same to her – apart from some that looked as though they had been crying blood, crimson liquid running down them in rivulets.

"Theon," Robb called rather brusquely, waving a hand for his friend to join him at the front of the small column. Theon offered Mella one last smirk, before trotting forward to converse with Robb in hushed voices. Mella manouevred her horse so that she was riding beside Sansa. If Robb didn't want to speak to her, so be it. No doubt he thought her rather rude, or perhaps – Mella felt excruciatingly embarrassed at this – he thought she _was_ in love with him, and merely attempting to deny it.

She still wondered why, of all her siblings, her father had chosen to leave her behind. Cersei claimed it was because he wished to recreate the betrothal between himself and Lyanna. It felt strange to Mella, that Robert wanted her to live the life he had never got to. He wanted her to find happiness in the north, with Robb, but what if she couldn't? You couldn't _make_ one person love another, even if it was convenient...even if the people in question wanted to love each other, if only to please everyone. But what if they couldn't?


	5. Dead Hearts

**Chapter Five: Dead Hearts**

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**A/N: A huge thanks to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed and favourited! If you haven't already, please check out the Game of Thrones Christmas Awards 2012. I've also made a trailer for this story, which you can find on my Youtube channel. There's a link to my channel on my profile. Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

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Mella wouldn't exactly say it had been a hectic day, however she was relieved to sink in a bath of hot water and let the warmth ease any knots of tension. She gave a contented sigh, sliding down into the water until she was neck-deep in the tub. Alyss kneeled beside her, rubbing lavender oil through her hair. Livia was across the room, smoothing out Mella's nightdress. By inspecting the grimy brown the bath had turned, there had been more dirt in Mella's hair from the day's ride than she had expected.

"Did you have a pleasant time, my lady?" Alyss asked. Unlike Livia, she had picked up on Mella's chagrin at having to be left behind while the rest of her family would be returning to King's Landing. Despite her often air-headed illusions, Alyss was rather perceptive when she wanted to be, Mella had noticed. She poured warm water over the princess's hair, washing out the lavender oils.

"It was nice enough," Mella replied cryptically, deliberately eluding the question as much as she could.

As if that wasn't bad enough, Mella had had to contend with Joffrey upon her return. Her younger brother had been boasting about the fact that he was going hunting with their father and the others on the morrow. When Mella had expressed nothing but disinterest, Joffrey's comments had grown rather snide. He had said that at least their parents didn't try and exclude him as they did Mella. That had stung like a physical blow, yet she hadn't let it show. That was always how it had been; hiding behind the facade that everything was alright.

"What do you plan to do on the morrow when the men are all hunting?" Livia asked from the other side of the room.

The answer to that question was one that Mella herself didn't know. Of course, the men were out hunting while the women stayed behind and needed to occupy themselves. Perhaps she should take a turn around the castle with Sansa again.

"Perhaps I should visit with Sansa."

Livia nodded approvingly. "A wise idea, my lady. I don't doubt that she has become quite fond of you. The two of you got along rather well, and she is betrothed to your brother."

Mella examined her reflection, exhaling deeply as she traced a slim finger over the pendant that Alyss had clipped around her neck. Livia would be returning to Winterfell upon the departure of the royal party in a month's time, but Alyss and several other unmarried ladies would remain with Mella in Winterfell. Perhaps they would even find happiness and marriages of their own, but for the princess, the future looked bleak. All she wanted was to go home.

A sharp knock on her door withdrew Mella from her ruminations and sent Alyss scurrying over to open it. When Mella turned, she noticed that it was Meryn Trant, a member of the Kingsguard. He bowed deeply to her, but of course when Mella searched his face for some kind of expression, she could find none.

"My lady. Apologies for disturbing you, but your father wishes to speak with you."

Her father...?

They were back from the hunt already? Apprehension tightened Mella's insides, for she was certain that something was wrong. She hoped that no one had been injured on the hunt...except perhaps Joffrey. Her brother had been absolutely insufferable about the whole thing so he would well deserve it. Pushing such unkind thoughts aside, Mella turned to Alyss and Livia.

"Ladies, come."

Mella descended the stairs into the hall, and her heart started to pound in her chest as she noticed that a vast majority of the royal entourage waited there. She clutched at her red skirts with anxious hands. If most of the court was present, then there was _definitely _something wrong. Across the far side, Robert sat beside Cersei, both wearing grim expressions on their faces.

Mella took a deep breath. She never felt that she had crossed so much distance in her life with all eyes on her, and she wondered why she was suddenly so nervous. She had walked through court before with her head held high – and she would do so now. No matter what happened, she would carry herself with the utmost dignity, just as she had been taught since she was a little girl. Yet still, the urge to run to her parents was one she had to shake off.

Mella strode across the hall, very much aware of the deathly silence. Usually, there were whispers if the matter was about the person present, so she was much relieved that whatever the matter was, it had nothing to do with her personally. It seemed to take an age before she stood before her father and her mother.

"Father, what has happened?" Mella inquired, trying to keep the concern out of her voice. "Why is everyone so grim? Is someone hurt?"

"Ned's little boy," Robert confessed grimly, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. "Bran. He was climbing up a tower and he fell. They don't know yet if he is going to wake up or not."

"_What?_" Mella didn't think she'd ever heard of something so terrible. She had spent enough time in Winterfell now to get to know the Stark siblings. But now, staying as a ward, she would be an awkward extra in a family torn apart by grief. She said a silent prayer to the Seven that they would spare Bran's life.

"Your father thought it would be a wise idea to go and see the boy," Cersei informed her daughter, in a tone that made it clear that the idea had not been hers. For the first time since she had arrived, Mella noticed that Jaime was standing at his twin sister's side. Cersei and Jaime exchanged a brief glance, and for reasons not quite clear to Mella yet, she suddenly found that she felt incredibly sick.

"You mean now, Father?" Mella inquired, almost choking out the words, suddenly desperate to leave the hall and all the eyes that seemed fixated on her.

Robert nodded, and Mella took her leave and walked out of the hall, fleeing with as much as grace as she possessed. Only once she was outside, away from all the prying and inquisitive eyes, did Mella lean against the wall and press her hands over her mouth. They said Bran had fallen, yet she had seen the dark looks her mother had exchanged with her uncle. Everyone else might be oblivious, but Mella had always been perceptive. She knew _people._ She knew something very wrong and she suddenly felt ill with it.

Circles within circles, plots within plots. Why would her family have any reason to harm Bran? Was that even what those troubled glances were about? Mella wanted to find out, but at the same time, she feared that the truth might shock her even more than the web of lies irritated her.

* * *

Mella knocked tentatively on the door of Bran's room, glancing in to see that she was far from being the boy's sole visitor. Robb sat at his brother's bedside in complete silence, holding one of Bran's hands in his own. Mella felt embarrassed at being an intruder on this clearly private display, but Robb had already turned around to face her. He looked devastated and his eyes were red-rimmed.

"I'm so sorry." Mella took a step back. "I didn't mean to intrude. I'll come back some other time..."

"No, come in," Robb insisted, his voice hoarse, "It might do me good to have some company."

Mella tentatively crossed the room and glanced down at Bran Stark. He seemed so small, huddled under the blankets the way he was, and so very pale. She swallowed hard and folded her arms over her chest, because she remembered that Bran was the same age as Tommen. What if it had been her little brother who had fallen? The thought was too unbearable, but Mella could suddenly understand Robb's pain. She crossed over and tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I am so sorry that this happened to your brother," she said softly, wondering if he could even hear her words at all. "He was a sweet boy and he never deserved anything like this."

To Mella's utter astonishment, Robb buried his face in his hands and started to cry quietly. She stared at him, feeling completely lost. She wasn't sure when the last time she had seen a man cry was, or if she ever had. Certainly her father had never cried. Although she was not sure what to do, Mella adapted fast. She reached over and put an arm around Robb's shoulders. It may not have exactly been proper, but she'd be damned if propriety would take place over comforting this poor boy.

Mella wasn't sure how long she held Robb as he cried, but she did the best she could, rubbing his back in soothing circles to try and calm him down. She was used to Myrcella and Tommen's tears, not dealing with the tears of a boy nearly a man. Part of her wanted to cry too, for the gods allowing something like this to happen to so innocent a child, but in reality, Mella was the sort who cried very rarely indeed. She felt like she was made of stone as she sat beside Robb and comforted him to the best of her ability.

"Thank you," Robb muttered as the tears finally seemed to stop coming. Mella hastily withdrew her arm and he wiped at his eyes and offered her a small, sad smile. She felt the inexplicable need to protect this boy from the world. She didn't think she had ever seen someone so..._open._ It was like Robb wasn't afraid to let go around her, as though he didn't care about being seen as vulnerable. She found it fascinating and wished that she could be more like him.

"For what?" Mella was baffled. "I just sat here beside you and watched you cry."

Robb reached across and took her hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. At first, Mella had a brief, fleeting thought about this breach in propriety – not that she truly cared. She bit her lip and glanced across at him, and he offered her another worn smile. His hand seemed a lot larger than hers, but it was warm and she hoped she was giving him the sort of comfort he needed. She wanted to be a light in his current darkness, leading the way...but to where?

"Just for being here, that's all. For putting up with me when I'm like this."

Gods, but she found his honesty refreshing. She was so used to the constant masquerade of the court, where no one's true intentions were ever revealed. Always the poisonous threats hidden behind sweet words, the facade of contentment when in fact, the fortress walls inside were crashing down. Robb Stark was just so different from all of that, and she envied him his freedom. He acted however he wanted, he was so open about everything...and she was still hiding behind her veil.

Robb glanced down at their interlinked hands and suddenly released her hand as though he'd come out of a daze. He averted his eyes and swallowed hard and Mella found herself disappointed. Not at the sudden loss of contact, but because she knew what Robb was doing. _Don't, please don't. The formalities died when I entered the room, don't bother resurrecting them now._ But it was already too late.

"My apologies, my lady," Robb mumbled, shifting a little further from her, "That was completely...it wasn't proper. I shouldn't have touched you in that manner. Please forgive me."

Suddenly, it was all too much. It was overwhelming for Mella. Bran lay before them near death and they should be focusing completely on that, not on what was proper and what was frowned upon by the court. She clambered to her feet, small hands clenched into fists of determination.

"No."

Robb looked up, watching her warily. She paced like a caged animal, but for Mella, it was time to open the door and let the beast free. No more hiding who she was, how she really felt. No more false smiles and words that weren't what she really meant. She whirled around to face Robb.

"No, I won't forgive you, Robb...because there's nothing to forgive. You are upset and it's only _human_ to need comfort. Don't you dare be sorry for that. It doesn't matter who or am or what my title is, I'm still a person. It's not 'my lady', it's Mella. There is _nothing_ improper about showing your grief, do you hear me? Nothing at all."

The walls of the dam had come crumbling down and the water flooded out of it with a victorious roar. Everything that Mella had kept locked away inside herself had come spurting out, and suddenly Robb was regarding her with shock and awe. She averted her eyes and bit back an automatic apology – but she wouldn't allow herself to say she was sorry. Because she wasn't, and she was so very tired of lies.

"Mella." Robb's voice was soft, but he seemed as though he didn't quite know what exactly it was that he wanted to say. He finally settled on giving in. "I think that you should go. You seem very upset yourself."

"I am fine," Mella responded coolly, before realizing that yet again, it was a lie. She was not fine. She was completely emotional and of course, Robb had picked up on that. She felt that she had completely humiliated herself in front of him. She sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping. "You're right. I should leave before..."

"Before you say something else you actually mean?" The hint of a smile played about Robb's lips, but sadness remained in his bright blue eyes. "It's not your words that have affected me, Mella. Well, they have, but not in a negative way as you seem to think. It seems that perhaps I'm actually getting to know the real you."

Mella was suddenly acutely aware that it was not supposed to be her in here comforting Robb. Filled with mixed feelings and overloaded by her emotions, Mella offered Robb a brief goodbye before she turned and left the room.


	6. Doors Closing

Chapter Six: Doors Closing

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**A/N: Again, a huge thanks to all of you who have been reading, reviewing, favouriting and following! I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

She felt like one of those young ladies from the stories, the ones who locked themselves away in towers, wasting their lives away. Mella remained standing in the window of her room and staring outside, her arms folded and her expression completely unimpressed. Today, the royal entourage was leaving to return to King's Landing. Today, her family would leave her to Winterfell and the cold north and the Stark family she hardly knew. It might have been alright if the girls were staying, but Sansa and Arya were venturing south with their father. The only female company she had around her own age were ladies.

"My lady." It was Alyss speaking to her. Mella turned to face her. She would not be the only one remaining in Winterfell – Robert had informed his oldest daughter that five guards and five ladies would be permitted to remain with her. It wasn't a lot, and from the expression on Alyss's face, Mella could tell that she was already starting to miss Livia, despite the fact that the older woman had not yet left. "My lady, it's time to come and say your farewells."

There was a childish part of Mella that wanted to refuse, to stubbornly insist upon staying away from the family that had abandoned her. Yet she was not a child anymore. She would miss her family over the next year or so she was in Winterfell, and she knew it well. With a heavy sigh, Mella allowed Alyss to fasten her blood-red pendant around her throat, before her ladies accompanied her down to the courtyard.

It was a bustle of activity. Two hundred people were preparing to leave Winterfell, and it seemed that the whole town was aware of it. Everyone was on edge, impatient. Mella skirted past a wagon and approached her family, swallowing hard. She would not allow herself to be emotional. Miss them as she may, they were the ones who had left her here. Mella straightened up as she walked across to the carriage, where her mother was in some heated debate with her father.

"Mella." Cersei turned away from Robert, a mournful smile lingering on her lips as she embraced her oldest daughter. Yet Mella, who knew her mother and people in general all too well, noted that Cersei's green eyes were more angry than upset. Her mother drew back and placed a quick kiss on her forehead. "I know it must feel terrible, to stay in this horrible cold. But never mind. You'll be with us again before you know it."

Cersei drew back, and Mella turned her attention upon her siblings. Joffrey examined her with an impassive expression – clearly, he couldn't care less – and bowed rather stiffly from the waist. It was as though she was a stranger to him. Mella refrained from scowling, although she knew she would hardly miss Joffrey at all. He turned away and busied himself barking orders to the stable boy saddling his horse.

Myrcella and Tommen were a different story completely. Myrcella rushed over to her older sister, forgetting about any sense of propriety, and flung her arms around her waist. Mella held her close, burying her face in her little sister's blonde hair, so different to her own. When she finally drew back, Myrcella gave her a brave smile. Mella kissed her younger sister's cheek, and then Tommen was crying and holding her close. Cersei frowned as her youngest child clung insistently to her oldest.

"Tommen, that's enough of that blubbering. That won't do at all. Come, you are a prince. You don't cry like a baby."

Robert was the last to farewell Mella. At first she was expecting some sort of gruff goodbye, as though he didn't really care. Instead he pulled her into a firm bear hug, like he used to do what she was younger. Mella felt a little embarrassed, yet she was pleased that at least one of her parents made a sincere show of emotion. The king pulled back and kissed his daughter on both cheeks, and Mella saw the sorrow in his eyes.

"You had better behave yourself, young lady," he told her in a show of false sternness, "Or I will be hearing all about it."

Mella wanted to let all of her feelings go, as she had the other day with Robb, yet somehow she couldn't, not in front of everyone. She wanted to hold her father tight and tell her that she loved him, how she would miss him, but the princess within her would not allow her to do it. Instead she found herself staring at the ground. There were no tears – Mella was not the crying sort – but she was engulfed by a sense of loss.

"Goodbye, Father," she murmured.

Little did Mella know that it would be the last time she ever saw her father alive.

* * *

Winterfell seemed like a ghost town after the departure of the royal entourage. Mella hadn't realized how quiet the place would be, and she missed the hubbub of King's Landing. She felt lost, unsure what to do. The north was bleak. Mella found it growing more and more so now that her family were gone, now that there were no familiar whispers of the ladies in the corridor, she grew lonely.

Sometimes Alyss would accompany her on a turn of the castle, but other than that Mella had attempted to find a way to occupy herself. Of course, she thought matters would have grown easier after the horror that had been Bran's fall – only, she had been wrong. Mere days after the royal party had left, there had been an assassination attempt on the boy's life, and Catelyn had been forced to ride for King's Landing.

Mella had recognised the dagger, but she would never have said so. Catelyn already suspected her family, and her claim that the dagger had belonged to her uncle Tyrion would only be further enforced by the fact that Tyrion had had Mella gifted a dagger of her own before his departure. The princess had suspected that Jaime and her mother had something to do with Bran's fall, but she never would have thought Tyrion was involved. Now she felt betrayed, and hemmed in, unsure which way to turn. How was she supposed to support her family when she didn't know if she could trust them?

The fact that Tyrion had given her a dagger as a parting gift was a curiosity to Mella. Was he implying that she shouldn't trust the Starks, that she may need to be able to defend herself? She was so lost in thought that while she cannoned into someone, having been taking a turn around the castle. Mella was immediately shaken from her thoughts, and found herself glancing at Robb.

"I'm sorry," she said automatically, but she noticed that Robb was examining her with a critical expression and she found herself frowning. "What is it?"

"Are you well?" Robb inquired, his gaze growing concerned, "You look distant."

"In my mind I'm back in King's Landing," Mella admitted, brushing back a strand of dark hair. Robb didn't need to hear about all of this. "Anyway, I don't doubt that you have more important things to be worrying about, so I shall leave you to it."

Mella made to walk past him, but Robb caught her by the wrist. The sudden contact made her whirl back around, surprised. She wanted to tell him to let go, but at the same time, she really didn't want him to. His blue eyes were full of worry as he examined her and Mella wondered if perhaps he did care as Theon thought he might.

"I worry about _you_," Robb insisted, stepping closer to her, "You haven't been the same since your family left. Normally you're so full of life, but now, you're like a ghost."

Mella was so used to reading other people, but she didn't like it when other people could read her. There was genuine anxiety in Robb's blue eyes, and she was torn, unsure if she wanted him to care or not. She was aware of his grip on her wrist and for once in her life, she was lost for her words. But then Mella regained her dignity and drew herself up.

"I'm fine, thank you, Robb."

"No." Robb shook his head slowly. When he spoke again, his voice was very soft, almost tender. "No you're not. You once said that it was only human to want comfort. Well, I'm here for you, Mella. I know that it can't have been easy to watch your family leave and if you ever need someone...I'm around."

She felt a surge of gratitude towards him, but she quickly shoved it away. She glanced pointedly at his fingers closed around her wrist. Robb followed her gaze and cleared his throat, taking a step back and releasing her. Mella couldn't understand why she was acting so...cold. Perhaps she was afraid to love, afraid to fall. Yet why was she, if she didn't know whether she might drop or fly?

"Why do you care?" Mella asked him sharply, her heart hammering faster as she noted that perhaps he did have feelings for her after all. Robb became suddenly intent on staring at his feet, a faint flush creeping into his cheeks. She examined him, half-hopeful and half-terrified. What did this mean for them? Would he even admit the truth about how he felt...or was she just jumping to conclusions. "Robb?"

"Alright." Robb raked a hand through his dark hair and he heaved a sigh. "Perhaps I want to get closer to you. You...you're intriguing, Mella. Just when I think I know everything about you, there's something that surprises me. Like in Bran's room that time..."

"Oh." Mella felt her cheeks heating up and she knew she must be flushing. She still remembered that rather embarrassing episode all too clearly. Yet the way spoke of it, there was no disdain. There was almost admiration...admiration for her loss of control. She didn't understand it one bit. "That...I never meant to chastise you like that. It wasn't right of me to lose my temper like that..."

Robb shook his head fervently, a wry smile crossing his lips. "Don't ever be sorry, that was what you told me. Now it looks like I'm repeating your message. I love seeing the real you, Mella. When you come out from behind that mask and I see who you really are...when I see that fire...it gives me hope. So don't ever let someone put that fire out. You don't have to be a shell. You are whoever you want to be."

She couldn't help but smile as his words gave her courage. He was right, she supposed. Too long, Mella had been hiding who she really was underneath a facade of civility and composure. Now it was time for the real her to shine through, and she vaguely wondered if that was what her family had been so worried about. Perhaps they had known that remaining in Winterfell would change Mella...that _Robb Stark_ would change her.

* * *

"I still can't believe you left our daughter to the Starks." Cersei was bitter as she filled up her goblet with more Dornish wine, glowering across at Robert. After Bran's fall, there had been even more tension between the Starks and the Lannisters. Cersei feared leaving her daughter in the north amidst such rivalry. Catelyn was kind enough, but she knew little of the oldest son, Robb.

"For the love of the seven, woman," Robert growled. "Ned and the girls are with us. It's only Catelyn and the boys there, what harm do you think is going to come to her? Catelyn is warm towards the girl."

His face was red with drink, for wasn't that what they both did? As if somehow, alcohol could make their sour marriage more tolerable. He didn't want to shove his daughter into some bloody political alliance where she would become the frigid wife to a drunkard husband. Yes, it was true that he wanted something to blossom between Mella and Robb – yet he had the distinct impression that his efforts were in vain.

"That was before," Cersei snapped, taking another swallow of her wine. "After the boy fell she sees enemies everywhere, she's a grieving mother. What if she thinks we're responsible? What if she takes it out on Mella?"

"You are the paranoid one," Robert replied irritably, "The woman isn't fool enough to harm the oldest daughter of the king. She bears me no ill will; it's your bloody father the Starks have the problem with."

Cersei bristled at that, but remained in indignant silence rather than deigning to reply. She truly did want Mella to be happy, yet she felt her husband was attempting to force happiness upon the poor girl, as though he could make her fall for Robb. There was no doubting the boy was handsome, but good looks didn't mean everything. In a year's time, when the fostering period was over, what if Mella had formed no attraction to the Stark boy? Would Robert stubbornly insist on keeping her there?

"If anything happens to our daughter, I will never forgive you." Cersei sneered, clambering to her feet in a whirlwind of gold hair and red silks. "Never."


	7. Perfect Denial

Chapter Seven: Perfect Denial

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**A/N: Hey everyone, thanks so much for all your support as usual! I would love it if you checked out my other Game of Thrones stories, Poison & Wine and Shades of War, or even some of my original stuff - which you can find a link to on my profile. I also have a video for this story, on my profile as well, if you haven't seen it yet.**

* * *

Robb's eighteenth name-day was mere days away, and preparations for the event were being undertaken all around Winterfell. Mella had known parties before, but they had always been in King's Landing. She had despised them. They had always involved court gossip, small talk and drinks. She had felt suffocated by them, but like many other matters in the north, no doubt Robb's name-day celebrations would be different.

However today was different, not only because of the preparations for Robb's name-day, but also because Tyrion Lannister had arrived in Winterfell, venturing south from the Wall, along with a man from the Night's Watch. Mella couldn't help but feel childishly excited at the prospect of seeing a member of her family again. She and Tyrion had always gotten along grandly. But upon entering the hall, she found that the atmosphere was thick with tension.

"I must say, I received a slightly warmer welcome on my last visit," Tyrion said dryly as he stood at the foot of the high table at which Robb Stark sat. There was a distinctly unimpressed expression about the boy's face, and that coupled with the cold aura washing off him made Tyrion feel very unwelcome indeed.

Robb ignored Tyrion's words, instead turning his attention on Yoren, a recruiter for the Night's Watch who was on his way south to get some more men from the dungeons at King's Landing. Mella dearly wished she could go with him, back to her family – but she also knew what her father had wanted, and she would stay in Winterfell as long as he saw fit.

"Any man of the Night's Watch is welcome at Winterfell."

Tyrion frowned. "Any man of the Night's Watch but not I, eh boy?"

"I'm not your boy, Lannister," Robb replied, and glancing at him, Mella could see the harsh coldness of winter reflected in his blue eyes. She wished to speak aloud, but knew that if she wanted to talk to Tyrion, she would have to wait until all the frosty formalities were over. "I'm lord of Winterfell while my father is away."

"Then you might learn a lord's courtesy," Tyrion replied with equal stiffness, causing Robb to clench his jaw. Before anything could interest, Mella quickly clambered to her feet and offered Robb an apologetic smile.

"Is it alright if I speak with my uncle alone for a moment?"

Robb's blue gaze never softened, and she knew that despite the closeness that had begun to develop between them, he still knew that her mother's family were enemies. He nodded curtly and Mella descended the stairs, wrapping her cloaks firmly around her and wandering out in the chilly morning air. Tyrion followed at a waddle, closing the door behind him and turning to face his niece.

"The north does not seem to agree with you, dear Mella."

"Nor with you." She couldn't help but smile, but it was forced at best. "You should be careful, uncle. They found...they found a dagger. There was an attempt on Bran's life, while he was still asleep. I think that Robb believes you are responsible."

"My dagger?" Tyrion raked a hand through his hair, eyes widening slightly. He understood the implications just as well as Mella. "I wouldn't be fool enough to give any assassin my own blade. Does he take me for an idiot?"

Mella glanced around. She knew that if she was caught talking to Tyrion about this matter, the consequences could be severe. However, she thought that her uncle deserved to know about the allegations that could be made against him.

"No, he takes you for a murderer."

"Why would I want Bran dead?" Tyrion demanded. "He's a ten-year-old boy. What harm could he possibly do me?"

Mella shook her head. That, she didn't know. While she didn't think Tyrion was to blame for what had befallen Bran, that wasn't to say she believed the rest of her family was innocent. Her own mother was known for doing whatever needed to be quietly done to ensure her own preservation...yet if the Queen was responsible in some way, what exactly was she trying to preserve? A shiver ran down Mella's spine, one that had nothing to do with the frigid cold of Winterfell.

"I wish I knew what this was all about," she murmured, more to herself than Tyrion.

* * *

Mella had been reluctant to bid Tyrion farewell, but she knew that hostilities were high between him and Robb, and knew that he would prefer to stay at an inn rather than intrude as a guest of Winterfell. She had been sad to say goodbye, as it felt like she was permanently losing everyone she cared about. As soon as Tyrion left, Robb came to visit her, and she knew what he would ask.

"What were you and Tyrion talking about?" He inquired, folding his arms. His blue eyes held no warmth and she knew that Tyrion's presence had brought his enmity against the Lannisters back into focus – but Mella was no Lannister. She was a Baratheon, her father's daughter. Did he think she had been involved in the attempt on Bran's life as well?

"Nothing insidious," Mella replied rather curtly. She hated how suddenly things had changed once more. Robb had been her friend, yet now he treated her as though she was little more than a stranger to him. "Robb, why are you so suspicious of me?"

"I want to know what you spoke of," Robb said slowly, his words clearly enunciated, and Mella knew that she had to lie. She should be good at it, for her mother was always telling lies. Mella didn't like to.

"I asked how the Wall was." She dropped her eyes. "I asked him to tell my parents that I miss them."

Robb hesitated and when Mella looked up through her lashes, she could see pity across his face. No doubt he understood, for he must miss his father and sisters, too. She felt a sting of guilt for lying to him.

"Oh. I...I didn't mean – I didn't intend to intrude on personal matters."

"How is Bran?" Mella inquired, hastily changing the subject to one that wouldn't make her insides tighten and squirm in discomfort. "Is he...faring any better? There is truly no sign of him recovering?"

"He will never regain the use of his legs," Robb said heavily. Mella bit her lip and reached a tentative hand towards him, but he flinched as though her nails were blades trying to pierce his flesh. Mella bit her lip hard. His rejection hurt, but she could understand that he bore many burdens, and he didn't wish the comfort of a Lannister's daughter.

* * *

"How could you be so stupid?" Cersei demanded the moment Jaime had entered her rooms and she had carefully closed the door. Robert was busy with his whores and his drink, so she had little to fear when it came to the possibility of him finding them together – although tonight, sex was perhaps the last thing on Cersei's mind.

"Calm down," Jaime insisted, a frown crossing his face.

"He's a child, ten years old," Cersei snapped, fiddling with her hands – a habit Jaime had observed for many years, one which only cropped up when she was nervous. He knew what it was like to have a child of ten years – he had one himself, even if that boy was not legitimate. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking of us," Jaime replied in a rather bored drawl, "You're a little late to start complaining about it now." He seemed to consider for a moment. "What has the boy told them?"

"Nothing," Cersei murmured, although to her that was little consolation. "He's said nothing, he remembers nothing."

Jaime shook his head and rolled his eyes to the heavens. "Then what are you raving about?"

"What if it comes back to him?" It had been nagging at the back of Cersei's mind, a constant fear, a paranoia. "If he tells his father what he saw?"

"We'll say he was lying, we'll say he was dreaming." Jaime threw up his hands. He loved Cersei, but honestly, seven hells sometimes her suspicions started to prick at his patience. "We'll say whatever we like. I think we can outfox a ten-year-old."

Cersei's expression remained troubled. It wasn't just Bran talking to his parents that she worried about. Her darling Mella was up there in the north. If it became clear that Jaime and Cersei had acted against the Starks, she could be killed or used as a hostage against them. It was a possibility that horrified Cersei, but also one that haunted her dreams. Mella might be her only legitimate child by Robert, but she loved her nonetheless.

"And my husband?" Cersei inquired, her thoughts drifting unwillingly to Robert.

"I'll go to war with him if I have to," Jaime replied, his eyes conveying seriousness before they lit up with amusement moments later. "They can write a ballad about us. The war for Cersei's cunt."

Infuriated, Cersei slapped him. She wouldn't be spoken to like that by anyone, not even her twin brother. Jaime laughed, clearly still finding all of this to be a huge joke. She tried to hit him again but he caught her wrist and spun her around so that her back was pressed to his chest and his arms were tight around her.

"Let me go," Cersei insisted, struggling against him. The only problem was that in truth, she didn't want him to. "Let me go."

"The boy won't talk, and if he does, I'll kill him." Jaime hissed in her ear, sending tingles running up her spine. "Him, Ned Stark, the King, the whole bloody lot of them until you and I are the only people left in this world."

"What about Mella?" Cersei asked. She had surrendered for a moment, just one, but then she remembered herself. She tore free of Jaime's grasp and spun around to face him. Of course, Mella was only Jaime's niece, not his daughter, so no doubt he hadn't even considered her. "What about my oldest child? She is up there in the frigid north, and if those Starks learn about what we have done..."

"Robert's child, you mean," Jaime scoffed, causing Cersei's temper to flare once more.

"She is _my_ daughter," she snarled, hands clenching into fists. "I won't see her become something for the Starks to threaten or bargain with if things don't go our way. It was Robert's decision to leave her there, not mine. I want her home."

"The King does what he likes," Jaime replied enigmatically, his voice becoming rather cold at the mention of Robert. It was clear that despite being a member of the Kingsguard, Jaime had little to no respect for the King. He also knew that there was not a chance in the seven hells that Cersei could convince Robert to let her bring Mella home, if what the King really wanted was to keep her in Winterfell.

* * *

Alyss had wanted to braid Mella's hair into sections, but she had immediately gone against the idea. For tonight, she wanted her dark hair flowing all around her. She felt mischievous and daring, like any other normal sixteen-year-old, and she wondered what the rest of her family would say if they could see her now. No doubt her father would roar with laughter while her mother frowned in disapproval. Mella felt a pang of homesickness. How she missed her father.

Tonight she wore a dress that was the deep emerald green of her mother's eyes, but that was perhaps the only dignified thing about the dress. It came half-way down her arms, leaving her shoulders and much of her neck exposed. The dress even showed some amount of cleavage, which Mella found herself smirking at. Cersei would no doubt have a fit if she saw how her daughter was dressed.

A string of emeralds have been looped around her throat and her arms jingled with thin gold bracelets. The mask she wore was a great golden lion, the sigil of her mother's house. It was encrusted with tiny emeralds and the only thing recognizable about Mella were the grey eyes that stared back at her in the mirror. Alyss and Imelda stared at their princess in shock as she turned to face them.

"That dress is _very_ outrageous, my lady..."

"You're showing a lot of bare skin..."

Mella refrained from rolling her eyes. Honestly, the way they behaved, anyone would almost think she was attending the celebration naked! She cared nothing for civilities and playing her part tonight. Most people wouldn't even know that they were looking upon a princess of Westeros when they saw her. She had the mask to thank for that. A stag would have been obvious, but a lion was another matter entirely.

She wondered what the others – Robb and Theon in particular – would say if she went up to them, told them who she was. Would they be shocked at her choice of dress, or approving? Well, knowing Theon, most likely the latter...but the others were another question entirely. Mella smiled tightly at the wide eyes of Alyss and Imelda.

"I'm ready, ladies."


	8. Battles of Your Youth

Chapter Eight: Battles of Your Youth

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**A/N: Wow! A MASSIVE thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, favourited and followed this story. You guys have been so awesome, keep up the good work! Hope you enjoy this chapter ;)**

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Mella didn't think she had ever seen the castle courtyard packed with so many people, not even when the rest of her family and their entourage had been present. The decorations had looked magnificent even in the daylight hours, but now, as night wrapped Winterfell in its dark cloak, the place was absolutely resplendent. She descended the stairs, glancing around, but of course she would not recognize a familiar face even if she laid eyes on one. Her dress trailed out behind her as she weaved her way through the courtyard.

Robb's birthday celebration was doubtless in full swing. A fire-eater and several performers on stilts seemed to be the main attractions, creating a pleasant and relaxed atmosphere that made Mella feel daring. She allowed herself to admire the variety of masks and costumes. How she wished they had events as lively as this in King's Landing! Perhaps the cold north wasn't so bad after all.

"Well played, Mella." She turned to see a familiar tall figure swaggering towards her in a mask that made her straighten her face to keep herself from laughing. It was clear that Theon had chosen to embellish his love for his house. The kraken had tentacles going in all directions, but Mella had to admit that it had quite the effect. That was the thing with Theon, you could never take him seriously. "Thinking people won't recognize you if you choose to boast your mother's house?"

"Perhaps that was the idea," Mella quipped, a little disappointed that someone had recognized her straight away. She examined Theon's costume with slight amusement, before she glanced around. Immediately, she earned herself a sharp nudge in the ribs, her mind wandering back down from its high in the sky.

"Looking for someone?" Theon questioned slyly.

Mella rolled her eyes. "I could ask the same of you."

Instead of replying, Theon gazed around the congregation and pointed rather obviously towards the long table that stretched almost the length of the courtyard. A man stood there in a grey wolf mask, surrounded by a gaggle of youths. Mella's heart seemed to flutter a little, although she was certain that it must be due to excitement at the celebrations rather than any nervousness at seeing Robb. She saw Robb every day. Of course it meant nothing.

"Why don't you go over and say hello?" Theon suggested, the hint of laughter more prominent than ever in his voice.

Mella was extremely grateful that he couldn't see her cheeks burning beneath her mask. "Oh, go and find a pretty girl to dance with."

She took Theon's advice, however. She swallowed her apprehension and walked over to the congregation surrounding the heir of Winterfell, with as much confidence as she could. The group politely separated upon seeing a woman among them, and Robb himself turned to face her. By his relaxed demeanour and jovial attitude, he clearly had not yet realized who she was. His eyes raked approvingly over her form and she couldn't help the heated feeling spreading up her face.

"Enjoying the celebrations, Robb?" Mella asked dryly.

Not even a hundred golden dragons could have bought the look on Robb's face as he came to terms with who he was speaking to. For a few moments, his mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Then he gathered his composure about him like a cloak and drew Mella's hand to his lips, as if such a formality could compensate for his rather lecherous stare.

"My lady." The words came out in a rush. "I didn't know that you would honouring us with your presence in...quite that sort of attire."

Mella's grey eyes gleamed mischievously. "Why? What's the matter? Do you not like it?"

"Well, no," Robb stammered, before immediately correcting himself, "That is to say, yes, I do like it, but..."

Mella laughed delightedly as he stumbled over his own words. She caught him by the hand, her daring inspired by the dim light and the beat of the music that seemed to reverberate within her heart.

"Would you care to dance?"

"I would love to," Robb confessed, consenting to let her lead her by the hand through the congregation. Once they had reached a sparsely populated area, Robb tentatively put his arms around her waist. "Is this alright? I know they don't dance like this in the capital..."

Mella just laughed, draping her arms quite comfortably around his neck. "I quite like the dancing style of the north."

Robb peeled back his mask as Mella watched with a curious expression, not understanding. He reached out and gently pushed back her own mask, so that her dark hair fell forward to frame her face. Instantly she felt a little less confident, as though something taking off the mask had shed a layer of her strength. She was a little vulnerable now and she hesitated. Robb noticed and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

"Are you alright?" He sounded a little concerned. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to see your face..."

"Why?" Mella questioned, completely baffled.

"Because you're beautiful," Robb replied, his tone matter-of-fact as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. She stared at him incredulously. Mella hadn't realized how close his face was to hers, how lovely a blue his eyes were...

Then his lips were on hers and he was kissing her. It was something completely different to what she'd been expecting, and a million times better. Mella was stiff for just a moment, before she found herself melting into him. Robb pulled her closer, running one of his hands through her dark hair. The other remained tight around her waist, pressing her against his body. His hand tangled in her hair trailed softly down her back, and she smiled against his lips.

Then Mella remembered who she was and what she was doing. She drew back from Robb with a sudden gasp. The kiss had sparked something inside her, but it was something dangerous, a heat she wasn't sure if she could contain. Her insides twisted with guilt and she shook her head vehemently.

"Mella?" Robb sounded worried and he stepped back, giving her space. "I'm sorry...was I too forward?"

But the whirl of music and colour was all too much or her. She spun around and nudged her way through the congregation. Suddenly, her greatest desire was to be alone. No one ever said that when you fell in love, it actually did feel like you were sinking. Mella tugged her mask back over her face, once again becoming anonymous as she hurried away from the celebrations.

"Mella!"

She had been followed. She whirled around with a loud sigh and a heavy heart. Of course it was Robb. Of course he wanted to understand why she was acting in such a manner. If she ran, he gave chase. She tried to keep running, to wherever it was she was attempting to go, but he took her by the wrist and tugged her back. Mella tried to push at him, but he held fast.

"Let me go!"

"Not until you at least reject my advances properly," Robb informed her, "Mella Baratheon, you are...one of the most wonderful...no, _the_ most wonderful girl I have ever come across. Behind that mask, there's actually a person there. I've seen her. Don't let her be suffocated."

He reached tentatively towards her and when she did not move, he drew back her mask so that he could see her face. For a brief moment, a smile illuminated Mella's face, but then she frowned and shook her head once more.

"Robb, no."

Robb smiled wryly and took Mella's hands in his own. She flinched at the tenderness of the gesture, blinking as he kissed her forehead. He put his arms around her and enveloped her in an embrace. For the first time since her family had left, Mella felt that she finally belonged somewhere. That this was right. She had not intended to fall for Robb Stark, but she had to choose whether she wanted to take the plunge. It was now or never.

"Is this what you really want?" she asked of Robb, a little sharply. "Is it really me? Because I do not intend on being a plaything for the sake of convenience."

Robb's cheeks flushed bright red. "No! Of course not, I would never do that to you, Mella. I honestly care about you. I just wish I knew what your feelings were towards me."

She saw the askance in his eyes. He wanted her answer and she needed to give it now. For once, perhaps Mella could make a decision that didn't rely on being a princess of Westeros. For the first time, she could actually choose something herself without her parents having to interfere. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. The fire within her was burning now, out of control. She enjoyed the heat.

"I care about you also."

Robb's smile was rather relieved. "Well, that's good then."

Their first kiss had been underneath the flickering lights but their second was in darkness, in secret where no one could see them. A round of drunken cheers went up in the courtyard, but all Robb and Mella could see, all they could feel, was each other.

* * *

Her breath came out in a cold fog from her mouth, but the happiness inside her made her feel warm. Mella stared down at the dagger that rested in her gloved palm and wondered exactly how one was to go about wielding it. Of course, she could _hold_ a dagger – that part was easy – but the hard part was knowing how you would go about actually stabbing someone with it if it came down to that. Mella had her guards, but they could not protect her all the time, even if they insisted on flanking her practically everywhere until she informed them they may stand down.

Robb's name-day celebration had completely changed Mella's perspective. Now she found herself with a reason to want to stay in the frigid north. Every time Robb passed her by, there was a brief exchange of smiles or nods, and her heart would beat faster like it was running a race.

Mella twirled the dagger in her hand, glancing down at it. Could she actually _kill_ someone if her life depended on it, if she didn't even have the courage to confront her friend over a simple issue? Only, it didn't seem simple.

"You shouldn't be playing with weapons."

She spun around to see Robb walking towards her, but his tone was not one of amusement or jest. There was a hard look in his blue eyes, his mouth pressed into a stern line. Mella appeared worried and her grip on the dagger loosened. Robb was incredibly serious today, and she had not the slightest idea why. His sharp gaze raked over her, examining, judging. She remained silent for a few moments, before she felt the need to speak.

"Have I done something wrong?"

Robb seemed to consider her question. "Not you personally, no."

She frowned. "Then what is the matter?"

He heaved a long sigh. "The Lannisters attacked my father, and killed the captain of his guard."

Mella felt as though she was spiralling uncontrollably downwards. The euphoria she had been feeling at Robb's reciprocated romantic notions towards her vanished and was replaced by apprehension, which rested like a heavy brick in the bottom of her stomach. Why would her mother's family have attacked Ned Stark and his guard? She knew that things between the Lannisters and the Starks had never been anything more than forced civilities, but even she had not anticipated such violence. Then came the sick feeling again, the remembrance of her thought that perhaps Bran had not exactly _fallen..._

"Do you know anything about this?" Robb stepped forward and gripped her arms, gently at first, but when she remained silent, his grip tightened. His fingers dug into her arms and she winced as he shook her. "Mella? Do you know why your uncle attacked my father and his guard?"

"Let me go," Mella retorted, her voice turning cool, "The feud between our families lies in King's Landing. From here, how can I know why they fight?"

Robb made to say something else, his eyes flashing, but Mella moved her arm. The cold blade of the dagger she held was pressed against his stomach. Guilt flashed through Robb's eyes and he swallowed hard, releasing her and taking a step back. Mella continued to grip the dagger so tightly it hurt her hand. She did not think Robb was trying to hurt her, or that he was a threat, yet all the same, she remained wary.

"Sorry." Robb shifted his feet rather awkwardly. "I didn't mean to harm you."

Mella impulsively moved forward and he stiffened, perhaps expecting that she would attack him. Instead she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close in a tight embrace. Robb melted after a moment, putting his arms around her waist. She rested her chin on his shoulder.

"I know you're upset. I know this can't be easy for you. But you need to remember that although I am related to the Lannisters, I am more a Baratheon than anything else. I don't look anything like my mother. I will support whatever you do, Robb, but please don't do anything rash for the sake of revenge."

"What would you have me do?" Robb asked out of the blue.

The question surprised Mella more than anything. She had never anticipated that her opinion might be asked. However at the same time, she knew that the weight was on her shoulders now, that she needed to come up with a reply. She might not ever be Queen, but at least she needed to know how to respond to a difficult decision. Robb was caught at the crossroads, and it seemed it was up to Mella to choose which path he would take.

What would she do, if someone had attacked her father? She would be furious, of course...but it was different, as he was the King. Was it possible that Ned Stark had been attacked on her father's orders? The Lannisters were in service to him. A cold clutch of fear held Mella for a moment, before she fiercely assured herself that it wasn't possible. Ned and her father had been friends since boyhood, he would never have authorized something as atrocious as that.

"You need to find out why it happened before you take action," Mella responded finally. It wasn't exactly the best piece of advice, but it was all that came to mind. "You can't just retaliate on the grounds that they attacked your father. You need to look at the situation more carefully than that."

Robb examined her carefully, and then drew her into a tight embrace. She enjoyed feeling the warmth of him seeping through into her, and she buried her face in his chest to conceal the small smile that crossed her lips. He kissed the top of her head and when she drew back, he was smiling. It wasn't with the same brightness as usual, yet it still encouraged her to smile back.

"How is Bran?" she inquired tentatively.

Robb heaved a sigh. "He is well. Theon and I plan to take him out riding in the godswood this afternoon. There's been a special saddle made up for him."

Mella smiled. "Bran will enjoy that."

* * *

Mella crumpled up the letter from her mother, shaking her heads so that her dark hair fell around her face. She heaved a sigh and wondered exactly who she could trust, but despite Cersei's warning not to trust the Starks, there was bubbling feeling inside her, a sort of contentment like she actually _belonged_ here in the north. Perhaps it had been worth staying after all.

Alyss noted the Princess's jovial mood as she set about running her a hot bath. When she was pleased, Mella was even more like Robert, her happiness seeming to radiate out and influence everyone around her. Even Alyss found herself smiling, braiding Mella's hair as the Princess hummed happily to herself.

Mella had felt sourly about being left in Winterfell. She hadn't wanted to stay with people she barely knew, but now she almost trusted them as much as she did her own family – or perhaps more, for she knew that Lannisters could be deceitful. Now, it felt as though everything was finally falling into place. Her life was finally where she wanted it to go, and she didn't think anything could get her mood down.

So what happened next would shatter her completely.


	9. Prices Paid

**Chapter Nine: Prices Paid**

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** A/N: Again, a huge THANK YOU to all of you who have been reading, reviewing, following and favouriting! Also, if any of you are interested, CityGirl13 and I have finished writing an original story, which I've started posting on Fictionpress. You can find the link to it on my profile, it's called FLAGRANTE DELICTO, and I would love love LOVE if you'd at least check it out, if not review with what you think ;)**

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Mella sat on her bed with her knees curled to her chest, trying to choke back sobs that shook her frame. The crumpled letter beside her had brought the news of her father's sudden death – apparently he had died when he had been skewered by a boar while hunting. Mella thought of Robert, of the man with the deep laugh and the big belly and the gruff kindnesses. She raked her hair back from her face and cried all the harder for the knowledge that she had not even been there in his last moments.

Joffrey would be King now, and Mella highly doubted he would be a good one. Her brother was too full of cruelty, too delighted by the torment of others. Her mother had commanded her home for Joffrey's coronation, but Mella wasn't certain that she could remain there. She had spent so long in the north now that the cold no longer affected her, and she could not bring herself to care for her family's feud with the Starks.

"Mella?" The door opened and Robb stood there with his hand on the knob. His expression immediately morphed into one of sympathy when he saw her, curled up on the bed holding herself tight. Her hair was a mess, her face red and her eyes puffy from crying. Robb immediately crossed the room and sat beside her on the bed, tentatively putting an arm around her.

Mella leaned against his shoulder, and Robb's hesitance vanished and he pulled her closer, lending her his warmth. She buried her face in his shirt and cried once more, for not only had she lost her father, but the memories that went with him. Then there was the fact that Robert was the only thing standing between an outbreak of violence between the Starks and the Lannisters. His friendship with Ned meant that hostilities sweltered but never broke out, but his death meant that if Cersei wished to make an enemy of Ned, she would not be stopped.

"I am so sorry," Robb muttered, for in truth he could not begin to comprehend Mella's loss. How would he feel if his own father died? He was not certain, but even the idea filled him with dread. He stroked her dark hair as the warmth of her tears seeped into the fabric of his shirt, and her frame shook against him with the force of her sobs.

"I got the letter this morning," Mella said, her voice muffled against his shirt. She extricated herself from his arms, getting up off the bed and crossing over to the window. She could see the entirety of Winterfell from here, so very different to King's Landing. What had been the last thing her father had seen, before he faded out? She wished it had been her face, so that she could remember spending his last moments with him. Instead she was hundred of leagues away, having to find out about her father's death by a letter written in her mother's hand.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Robb inquired, and when Mella turned back to face him she could see in his blue eyes that he was lost. She bit her lip, wondering whether there was anything Robb _could_ do that would bring her solace. When she hesitated, Robb got to his feet and crossed over to her, putting his arms around her and tugging her close. "I will always be here for you, you know that, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Mella whispered, averting her eyes.

Robb tilted her chin up and saw the sadness written all over her face. He wanted to comfort her as best he could, but this was different to Bran's fall. It was over so very suddenly, whereas Bran had been caught between life and death for over a month. Mella hadn't gotten a chance to say goodbye. He hesitantly leaned in, and then abandoned all tentativeness and kissed her, drawing her closer.

Mella kissed back, fisting her hands in his shirt. She needed closeness, she needed something to hold onto to make the cold of the coming winter and the sorrow in her heart go away. Robb's fingers weaved their way into her dark hair and she pressed close against him, until she could feel his heart beating through their chests. He smiled against her lips, but she pushed against his chest and staggered backwards, smoothing out her dress and flattening her hair as Robb watched in bewilderment.

"Mella?" Robb questioned tentatively. "Are you alright? Have I wronged you?"

No, but that was why Mella found a problem with it. Kissing Robb felt so _right. _But her father had just died and here she was, kissing the son of his best friend. She did not need to concern herself with affairs such as romance or marriage, for right now they did not matter. Her brother was King, and to Mella, that brought her suddenly closer to the throne as well. Tommen was next in line after Joffrey, and she was after Tommen.

"I just need some time alone," Mella murmured, turning away from Robb and placing her hands on the window ledge. Her mind was whirling with troubles she had no wish to share. Behind her Robb paused, hesitated. He didn't know if leaving Mella alone while she was in her current condition was a wise idea. The Princess wasn't even wearing her cloak, as though winter's chill was nothing compared to the empty hole that her father's death had left behind.

"Mella..."

"Just go!" Mella snapped, whirling around to face Robb. She immediately regretted her words when she saw hurt flare through his eyes, before he clenched his jaw and nodded slowly. She opened her mouth to say something, utter an apology for her harshness perhaps, but he had already turned on his heel and stalked from the room. Mella leaned against the wall and hammered her fist against it, as her father had once slammed his hammer against Rhaegar Targaryen's armour.

She slid to the ground, sobbing hysterically until she found that she couldn't breathe. She wanted no sympathy. All she wanted was her father back, the one thing she would ask that she knew she could never achieve. Now she had alienated Robb, the one thing she had been certain of in the cold north.

* * *

In truth, Cersei was starting to worry about Mella returning to King's Landing. It was odd, really. She had been so discontent with her daughter remaining in the north, yet now she feared that the girl would discover what she really was. Mella had always been perceptive, so what if now she had the ability to see through Cersei's facade? What if she somehow managed to find out what had truly caused Robert's death?

"You need to stop being so paranoid," Jaime drawled when Cersei told him of her suspicions. He raked a hand through his blonde hair. "Look, Mella is your daughter, but Robert's blood also runs through her veins, and your husband was always ignorant unless it directly affected him.

"Robert's death _does_ affect her," Cersei snapped in response, folding her arms. Since her husband had died, Ned Stark had become restless. She knew that he must be planning something – only, what? Cersei had always known that she could trust no one but her own family, care for no one but Jaime and her children. "What if she does find out? She would not bend to knee to Joffrey then."

"She won't find out," Jaime nearly hissed, beginning to lose his patience. "For the love of the Seven, woman, will you stop your constant fretting?"

Cersei just couldn't help it. She had spent so long building herself up and she couldn't afford to come crashing down now. Robert's death had not been suspicious – after all, everyone in the seven kingdoms knew what a drunkard he was – yet it would only take one doubtful mind to ruin everything. Whoever spoke against what Cersei declared to be the truth would have to be quickly silenced.

* * *

Mella had shut herself away from everyone for several days before she decided that she'd done quite enough moping and needed to focus upon getting back to King's Landing. So she had spent the entire morning down in the courtyard overseeing preparations for her departure. Her five guards and five ladies would, of course, be accompanying her on her venture back to the capital. She didn't even realise Robb had been paying any attention to the activity until he descended the stairs.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, folding his arms over his chest and examining the small carriage Mella had requested with a frown crossing his lips.

"Returning to King's Landing for Joffrey's coronation," Mella replied in an equally brisk voice, lifting her chin as if daring him to contradict her decision. She didn't normally like fighting with people, but she just felt as though she and Robb needed to argue and get it out of their systems before they could start getting along once more.

"You're leaving?" Robb's tone faltered slightly, and Mella found an ache beginning to burn like the cold of Winterfell in her chest. If she left Robb behind, what was to say that her mother wouldn't command her to stay in King's Landing? What if she never saw him again? She forced herself firmly away from such pessimistic thoughts, but still the prospect of losing him was one that Mella couldn't quite let go of. The cool flakes of snow had felt as good against her skin as now, when she faced leaving them behind, forsaking the oncoming winter in the north for the sweltering heat of King's Landing.

"Yes." The words came out a whisper, as though she could hardly bring herself to speak them. Mella watched Robb's shoulders slump, and realised that he truly did care about her. Her heart surged to know that her father had been right to leave her in Winterfell after all. Robert had thought something would spark between Robb and Mella and despite the fact that Mella had been doubtful, her father had been right about _something._ Now that he was dead, she knew it was up to her to keep up good relations with Robb. She couldn't depend on her mother to let her return to Winterfell.

"But you'll come back?" Robb sounded torn between being hopeful and desperate. He crossed over to her, watching as she averted her eyes. "Mella?"

"I...I don't know," Mella stammered, raising her gaze to meet his. She bit down on her lip and prayed to the Seven that she would someday be reunited with Robb, someday soon. Perhaps she could go to Joffrey's coronation and then return to Winterfell? She did not want to raise her hopes too high, out of fear they might come crashing down around her.

"I hope you do," Robb replied, putting his arms around her and pulling her into a very informal embrace – but Mella no longer cared. She buried her face in Robb's shoulder and allowed herself to breathe him, before doing something she hadn't ever dared do except privately – she pressed his lips to his. She heard Alyss gasp, but Mella no longer cared. There was a certain numbness that had accompanied her father's death, and it had ignited a sort of recklessness within her.

After a few moments, she drew back, slightly breathless. A flush now coloured Robb's cheeks, but he looked significantly more pleased than he had before. She almost wished that she could invite him with her to King's Landing, but current tension between their two families ensured that he would not be welcome, and Mella had no wish to endanger Robb. She extricated herself from his arms and swallowed hard, raising her chin.

"Lord Stark."

A smile tweaked at the corners of his lips. "Princess Mella."

* * *

Robb had been in a grim mood ever since Mella had left, but the letter that had arrived mere days after her departure had caused him to become more solemn still. He glanced over the letter that Maester Luwin had given him, as though the words could have changed, as though there could possibly be some kind of mistake.

"Treason?" He stated incredulously, brow furrowing into a terse frown. It seemed highly unlikely to him. His father had always been a good and honourable man and he would not do anything to disrespect Robert's memory so soon after the King's death. "Sansa wrote this."

"It is your sister's hand," Maester Luwin agreed, glancing at the letter. Theon attempted to peer over Robb's elbow at what was written on the parchment. "But the Queen's words. You are summoned to King's Landing to swear fealty to the new King."

King's Landing...that was where Mella was headed. If Robb rode hard, he could catch up with him...but no. His father's honour had been insulted, and Robb suspected that Cersei had something to do with this. Likely she had fabricated some lie, fearing him too close to Robert, that he would gain too much power from his friend's death.

"Joffrey puts my father in chains and now he wants his ass kissed?" Robb inquired contemptuously, his hands fisting around the letter.

"This is a royal command, my lord," Maester Luwin informed Robb grimly. "If you should refuse to obey..."

"I won't refuse." Robb's voice was hard. Things had been difficult for him since Mella had taken her leave to return to King's Landing, but now it would seem the Lannisters were more determined than ever to get rid of any possible power the Starks may have. "His grace summons me to King's Landing, I'll go to King's Landing. But not alone. Call the banners."

Robb handed the letter back to Maester Luwin, crumpling it up for what little it was worth. A slight smile crossed Theon's lips as he looked up at Robb, and even Maester Luwin appeared somewhat impressed by Robb's defiance.

"All of them, my lord?" he asked quietly.

"They've all sworn to defend my father, have they not?" Robb was fully aware that by declaring war on Mella's family, he was essentially declaring war on her as well – and then, she would have to choose her side, choose if she wanted to belong with him in Winterfell, or remain in King's Landing with those who had first injured and now imprisoned Ned Stark.

"They have."

"Now what we see what their words are with," Robb said in a hard voice, his eyes glimmering with the coldness of winter itself.


	10. The Art of Deception

Chapter Ten: The Art of Deception

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**A/N: Wow! As always, thanks for the brilliant feedback, guys. I'm always amazed at how many of you lovely people stop to review, favourite or follow. Anyhow *clears throat* tomorrow happens to be my 19th birthday, so...reviews would of course be a most excellent birthday present indeed. Hope you enjoy this chapter, in which Mella learns the truth of her heritage...**

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King's Landing was humid upon Mella's return – perhaps even a little too warm. She had grown used to the bitter winds and cold chill of Winterfell, and she felt a slight sweat beginning to break across her forehead. Was it from the heat then, or nervousness about seeing her family again? Everything had changed, considering the tension between the Starks and the Lannisters that grew close to boiling point after Robert's death.

It seemed that the entirety of court had gathered in the main courtyard to welcome the Princess back to the capital. Mella felt a little uneasy upon seeing all of them, in particular her brother strutting around with a crown upon his head. Joffrey had always been a cruel boy, and now she feared that he would make a terrible King. Taking a deep breath and wondering if they would see how much she'd changed, Mella pushed open the wheelhouse door and stepped out onto the moist earth of her home. Yet somehow, it didn't feel the same.

"Mella, my sweet." Cersei was the first to move forward, her green eyes glittering and a smile playing about her lips. She took her daughter in her arms and embraced her tightly. Over her mother's shoulder, Mella saw Joffrey's lip curl in contempt. There was no doubting her brother was not pleased by her return, although for what reason, she wasn't sure. They had never been close, but Mella though even Joffrey might show the slightest happiness at her arrival.

"What has happened?" Mella frowned and glanced around, searching for the familiar face of Ned Stark. He would be Joffrey's Hand now, but he was nowhere in sight. At first she felt insulted at his absence, but then a cold clutch of fear came over her as she realised Ned was far too respectful to miss the arrival of his best friend's oldest child. "Where is Eddard Stark? Should he not be present?"

Cersei's expression was sympathetic, but Mella noted that her mother's eyes had hardened.

"Mella, darling, you're in for some bad news. Eddard Stark is a traitor. He is currently imprisoned for attempting to usurp the throne that rightly belongs to your brother Joffrey. It would seem being the Hand didn't hold enough power for his liking."

Mella felt for a moment as though the stifling heat prevented her from breathing. She had always believed Ned Stark to be an honourable man, one worthy of every respect and not to mention the title of Hand of the King. She found it difficult to comprehend that he would want to usurp the throne, for he did not seem a power-hungry man. Yet...what reason did her mother have to lie? It was true that the Starks and the Lannisters did not get along, but Cersei would not have imprisoned him for something so petty.

"There is more." Joffrey stepped forward, his eyes glimmering with something like triumph. "Your precious Robb Stark has declared war on us."

Mella suddenly felt as cold as the north itself. Robb had declared war on them – on _her_? He had claimed to care for her. Mella knew his reasons would have to do with Ned's imprisonment, yet she wondered what impact the declaration of war would have on her relationship with Robb...if it could even be called that. Was it just a passing phase, a fleeting moment of desire? She had feelings for him, but even now, they were conflicted as she was torn between her family and the young man she just might love.

* * *

Mella was just starting to settle back into her normal routine, and it was already only her first night back in King's Landing. She allowed Alyss to braid her hair, but she remained in silence, listening to her lady's chattering but making no attempt to participate in the conversation. She and Robb were now _enemies._ Her family had imprisoned his father. Could there really be any going back to what they had before? She swallowed the lump in her throat.

There was a soft knock at the door and Alyss rose to her feet, crossing over and swiftly opening it – and Mella was surprised at her visitor. Lord Varys bowed from the waist, the hint of a smile playing about his lips. Immediately, Mella was cautious, for she had always known Varys to be a man she should not trust. Biting her lip, she quickly dismissed Alyss and then turned to the matter of her unexpected visitor.

"It was a shame I could not be there when you arrived this morning," Varys said delicately, taking a seat. He was more graceful than most men, this eunuch. There was a soft touch to his words, a flourish when he spoke. Yet that did not make him any less dangerous. "But as you are no doubt aware, I am a busy man."

"Of course, Lord Varys." Mella offered him a brief smile, sitting across from him. "What I do wonder about is why you have chosen to visit me now. Surely I would have seen you in court on the morn?"

Varys smiled too. "No doubt at all, my lady, however there are matters I wish to discuss with you – away from the prying eyes and ears of the nobility."

Mella was guarded now. Matters he wished to discuss? She wondered if perhaps they were to do with the reason Ned Stark had been arrested. She leaned forward in her chair, eyes conveying her interest.

"Yes, Lord Varys?"

"Ned Stark wishes to speak with you," Varys stated dryly, tapping his fingers lightly on the table as Mella leaned back, a little astonished. "As you know he is held prisoner in the dungeons, and I doubt your dear mother would permit you to see the man for fear of what he has to say."

"What does he have to say?" Mella whispered, beginning to feel the colour draining from her. Now she was afraid, because it seemed that there was something Ned Stark knew that her mother had no wish for her to find out. She gnawed at her lip anxiously and Lord Varys offered her a sympathetic smile.

"Don't be frightened, my lady. Come with me, and I will take you to see Lord Stark."

* * *

The dungeons were the place in King's Landing that Mella was most afraid of, and rightly so. They were dark and dank, housing all manner of criminals. The fact that a noble man such as Ned Stark was being kept in such conditions repulsed her. She shivered and wrapped her arms tight around herself as Varys unlocked the door to Ned's cell and held the torch out to her. Mella knew she was meant to enter alone, and the prospect made her so very frightened and claustrophobic, but if Ned could endure in the darkness, so could she.

"Lord Stark?" she called, hearing how small her voice sounded, resonating throughout the cell. "It's me, Princess Mella."

There was a clinking sound, which Mella made her way towards. She found herself looking upon a bedraggled man – but this couldn't possibly be Lord Stark. Yet it was. Ignoring the filth that smeared the floor, Mella knelt in front of him, holding the torch up so that he could see the light, and her face. Ned flinched away from it, not afraid of the fire, but unaccustomed to the sudden light that Robert's daughter brought with her.

"You came." Lord Stark's voice was hoarse. "I didn't think that you would, my lady. But there are things you need to know...about your father and your mother."

"What kind of things?" Mella's voice was a whisper and she watched the light of the torch flicker before her. Lord Stark had been imprisoned for something. Cersei suggested treason, but was that treason knowing something he shouldn't? Could Lord Arryn's death have been something more sinister as well? It seemed that the Hands were being gotten rid of as quickly as possible.

"What I am about to tell you will come as shocking." Ned's voice had grown stronger now, and she found herself listening intently. "I'm sorry it has to be so abrupt, but your mother is attempting to hide the truth, and I know that if your father were alive, he would believe me. You...you are so like him, Mella. With those eyes and that dark hair. His one true child."

Mella's eyes widened at his last words and she found herself starting to shake. She had noticed it before, stuck out painfully because she was the only child with dark hair and her father's eyes, rather than blonde hair and green eyes like Cersei. But, if she was Robert's only true child...no, Ned had to mean something else by his words.

"Your brothers and sister were all fathered by Jaime Lannister, your uncle." Ned's voice was heavy, as was his heart. It would all be too much for the poor girl to comprehend...yet she needed to know. "Think about it, Mella. You are a clever girl. Every member of House Baratheon has dark hair. It is dominant in your family, yet all three of your siblings are golden-haired. You are Robert's only legitimate child, and with that knowledge, you should be Queen of Westeros..."

"Stop it!" Mella jerked backwards as if his words had stung her. It wasn't because she thought him a liar. It was because everything he said made sense, started to answer the questions that had been niggling in the back of her mind. Yet if others found out that she was the true heir...if _Joffrey_ found out... "There must be some mistake, Lord Stark."

"You and I both know it's the truth," Lord Stark sighed heavily. "Now it seems that it's a truth I may die for."

* * *

Mella found herself unable to sleep that night, Lord Stark's words taking root deep inside her, causing her to fill with doubt. What could she do with the knowledge that she was the true heir? Joffrey would kill her if he believed her to be a threat to his claim to the throne, she had no doubt about that. Cersei...it stung Mella to know that her own mother would prefer her sadistic son on the throne rather than her oldest daughter. Perhaps it was because when she looked at Mella, she saw Robert's likeness.

The only thing Mella could think to do, cowardly as it was, was _run._ The whispers of Lord Stark's treason, of her legitimacy, would circle the court. Once they did, there wasn't a safe place she could turn. If she had been a boy, it would be different. Now people such as Lord Baelish and Lord Varys would attempt to have her married off to a powerful candidate, a man who would make a more benevolent King than Joffrey.

She understood now that she had been wrong to place her trust in her family. Cersei had been lying to her for so many, spoiling Joffrey and making Mella feel as though she was the outcast. The anger burned in her veins, and she remembered the words of House Baratheon: _ours is the fury_. With her father dead, that fury was all hers, and there would come a day when she would exact revenge upon those who had attempted to conceal their lies. Mella didn't think she could trust anyone in King's Landing anymore...but maybe, just maybe, she could trust Robb.

It was that notion that drove Mella to pack her bags in the dead of night. Of course, she wasn't foolish enough to think she could venture north alone – so she gathered all her ladies and guards who had accompanied her from Winterfell, convincing them that Cersei had assured her it was best to leave under cover of night. Mella had sworn her vows of fealty to Joffrey – but now, irate, she wished for nothing more than to take them back.

"My lady, why does the Queen wish us to return to Winterfell so soon?" Alyss inquired, a cloak tugged around her shoulders despite the fact that King's Landing was far warmer than the north had been.

"She doesn't want Robb and Catelyn to suspect anything is wrong," Mella lied with a saccharine smile. "She says we should return to Winterfell for now, for that would give Robb reason to believe we still have some trust in him."

In truth, Mella planned to find Robb's war camp, no matter how dangerous the task may be. She would tell him the truth about her heritage, about why his father had been arrested – but her chaperones weren't to know that, not yet. As she watched a stableboy saddle her horse, Mella wondered that there was some of her mother's manipulative side in her after all.


	11. Broken Promise

Chapter Eleven: Broken Promise

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**A/N: Only a few short days until Season 3! I bet everyone else is just as excited as me. Anyway, please do review, follow or add to favourites! I really appreciate the support I've been getting from you guys so far, you're all awesome!**

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"Move! Out of the way, boy!"

Arya was tempted to yell that she was a girl, _not_ a boy, but then remembered she was meant to be in hiding and didn't want to draw attention to herself. It would seem that being constantly mistaken for a scruffy little street urchin had finally done her some good. She was like a ghost around King's Landing at night, hunting around for scraps or money or anything that might have been left around, forgotten about. Sometimes, Arya wondered whether the Lannisters, and even her family, had forgotten about _her._

"That's no boy." It was a voice that was strangely familiar, but the words caused Arya to tense up, placing a hand on Needle's hilt. She would fight if necessary. Yet when she looked up to the girl on the horse, she recognised the dark hair and grey-blue eyes of Mella Baratheon, hidden beneath the hood of a cloak. Arya stifled a gasp. "This is Arya Stark of Winterfell."

"Then we should return her to your mother," the man who had yelled at Arya suggested. She almost drew Needle, but Mella spun in her saddle and glared at the man.

"_No._ Arya will venture north, with us. If we provide the Starks with their youngest daughter, they may see fit to trust me after all."

Arya wasn't quite sure what to think. Whose side was Mella on? She didn't want to bring Arya to the Queen, yet wasn't she Cersei's daughter? She frowned, before noticing that Mella was bestowing a smile upon her and reaching out a hand. Arya examined her warily, making no move to take the Princess's proffered hand.

"I can take you home, Arya. Back to your mother and brother. I promise, I can."

"You're leaving King's Landing?" Arya hadn't quite learned the art of suppressing her astonishment. "Why? You live here."

Mella's smile was somewhat sad. "Things change. Not anymore. I'm a ward to your family, remember? I think, for now at least, the north is where I belong."

"What happened to Father and Sansa?" Arya persisted. She knew that their entire household had been either captured or killed, including Septa Mordane. Arya hadn't exactly liked the Septa, but seeing her head on a spike had caused a queasy feeling to rise in her stomach, and she'd quickly hurried away, promising herself she wouldn't come back to see whose heads decorated those spikes.

Mella sighed, her horse shifting its hooves beneath her. "It's a long story, Arya. For now, we have to get out of here before it's too late. It's completely your choice. You can come with me, or you can stay here."

Arya knew what her choice was even as her hand reached out to Mella. The Princess pulled her up onto the horse with surprising strength, and Arya scrambled onto the saddle behind her, putting her arms tight around the older girl's waist. The Princess jerked the reins and once again, her party fell into motion. Dawn would come soon, and Mella knew that once it did, her family would not rest until she was found.

* * *

Finding a camp of 20,000 men was by no means too difficult a task. Mella found that the problem was upon her arrival, she would immediately be judged for being Cersei's daughter – and by that, half a Lannister. However, she intended to prove to Robb that she was a true Baratheon, by blood as well as by name. It was a good thing she'd brought Arya with her, because otherwise Mella had her doubts about whether she'd be admitted to the camp at all.

"Princess Mella?" the sentry on duty sounded surprised to see her. "Who's that little boy on the horse with you?"

"I'm not a boy," Arya snapped, peering around from behind the Princess's back. "I'm Arya Stark and I'm here to see the rest of my family."

The sentry paled considerably, and Mella couldn't say that she blamed him. Not only was he confronted with Robert Baratheon's sole true heir, but also the daughter of his imprisoned lord, Ned Stark. He nodded a fierce affirmation and glanced back towards the camp.

"Well then. Follow me, I'll take you to his Grace."

_His Grace?_ Mella stiffened slightly as she and her company followed the sentry. Robb was not a King...was he? What had happened in the frigid north during her relatively brief absence? She felt Arya press a hand against her arm, and realised with humiliation that even the young girl could tell she was apprehensive.

"It's alright. You'll be safe with me."

It sounded odd, coming from an eleven-year-old, yet Mella knew that Arya was right. She was an enemy here, but no harm would come to her if Arya insisted otherwise. They reached the main tent, and Mella dismounted her horse and helped Arya down as the sentry hurried into the tent, followed by several other men. No doubt her presence in the north had caused quite a stir, and if she was allowed to stay there would be much controversy.

Mella could only pray to the Seven that Robb was the same boy he had been when she departed Winterfell, that he still trusted her. Yet the Robb Stark that exited that tent was a boy no longer, but a man with cold, hard blue eyes that swept over Mella and her entourage. His men all kneeled, but Mella and her company remained standing. Robb's eyes narrowed slightly and Mella lifted her chin, sensing that a sudden tension seemed to have developed between them.

"It would seem you've not been told."Robb's tone was cool but polite, as if he was speaking to a stranger. It stung Mella like the time she'd stepped too close to a wasp nest. "I am King in the North now. This is my territory."

"I was informed," Mella replied in a similarly clipped voice. "But I see no reason why you would be King. I know you are at war with my family currently, but even so, your father would be the King in the North if anyone..."

"My father?" Robb repeated, tensing considerably. The men's eyes widened and they muttered amongst themselves, and by the sudden rage in Robb's eyes, Mella realised she had said something wrong. Something had happened to Ned in her absence, and she had the horrible suspicion that she knew exactly what. "My father is _dead_, Mella. Your brother had his head chopped off and put on a spike. Are you saying you didn't know that?"

The hard accusation in his tone made Mella's temper flare. She was not a naturally fiery person, however there was only so much a person could take. Her family had been lying to her for nearly seventeen years. Now it would seem that Robb thought _she_ was the liar, when in truth she had only wanted to discern the truth. She had rode north to offer him her support, to stand against her family at his side, perhaps at the expense of disinheritance...and here he stood, as though she should be punished for the sins of her brother and mother.

"Of course I didn't," Mella retorted, planting her hands on her hips. "I rode from King's Landing to come here. I brought your sister with me. By the time I left, your father was still a prisoner in the dungeons."

"Don't act as though you've done me a favour," Robb said curtly, his blue eyes blazing. He clenched his jaw and looked her straight in the eye. "I'm betrothed. I agreed to marry one of Lord Frey's daughters in exchange for his men and his permission to cross The Twins."

It felt as though Robb had taken his sword and plunged it straight through her. Mella faltered, her stance not quite as proud, her hands falling from her hips to clench by her sides. There had been no official betrothal between the two – yet Mella had always hoped, she'd _dreamed_ that when she returned to Robb, he would perhaps ask her to marry him. Now it seemed she had been wrong to depart at all.

Mella couldn't show how much Robb's choice hurt, not in public. She was a Princess of Westeros and her father's daughter. Robb had made his decision, and she was yet to make hers. _I could have made you a King,_ she wanted to snap at him, _If you'd married me, you could have become King of all of Westeros rather than this frigid north you call home._ Instead, Mella just nodded, a sharp inclination of her head.

"May I stay then, Lord Stark?" They were back to formalities, but she refused to call him a King. He was simply a rebel. Now she wasn't certain whose side she was on – should she choose the family that had lied to her, or the boy who had betrayed her?

"You may," Robb replied, "For now."

* * *

Mella's eyes were red and puffy with tears she vehemently denied crying. She sat on her bed in the tent Robb had given her, but all of his cold courtesies were lost on her. She had finally thought herself special to someone, to _him_...and then he'd gone and given himself away to a Frey girl. For the first time, she understood why her father drank so much, for she would have wished to drown her sorrows in beverage if she'd been permitted at that moment. Instead she could only sit in numb silence and wonder what would become of her...of _them._ Was there even a 'them' anymore?

Robb entered the tent a little after nightfall. Mella immediately pushed herself to her feet, determined to assert her position. She was no girl to be intimidated. She was a Princess of Westeros, as she constantly kept telling herself, and the rightful heir to throne upon which her brother – no, _half_-brother – sat. Robb's expression was different now that they were alone – his gaze softer, his lips not pressed into a displeased, thin line. It made Mella melt, but only a little, because she couldn't allow herself to be in love with him.

"Congratulations on your engagement," Mella said rather icily, causing Robb to sigh heavily and rake a hand through his dark curls.

"Do you think this is what I wanted, Mella?" he demanded, gesturing around them wildly. "To be betrothed to some girl that I don't know, or love? I did it because it's my _duty._ Sometimes we have to do things we don't necessarily want to, because they're right. I'd choose you a thousand times over, I thought you knew that."

Mella turned her back on him to gaze at the fire. "I'm not sure what I know anymore."

"Anyway." Robb's tone became more formal, and she knew that he wasn't Robb Stark now, but the King in the North once again. "I came to speak to you for reasons other than that. I received a letter from your uncle Stannis this evening."

Mella spun around to face him then. Stannis contacting anyone was rare. Generally he preferred to keep to himself on the little island of Dragonstone. She had met her uncle a few times in her life, but she hadn't really found him to be the sort who doted on nieces or nephews. He had especially come to have a dislike for Joffrey, but then again, most people did.

"What? Stannis? What did he say?"

Robb unfurled the letter, straightening it out and handing it to Mella. She inspected it – and what she saw there, written in black ink, was the evidence of Ned Stark's claims. Stannis said that the King's children had all been illegitimate, products of incest between Jaime and Cersei Lannister – with the exception of Mella. She bit her lip, feeling her palms becoming clammy. She handed the letter back to Robb and he raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Did you know of this?"

"Not when I came to Winterfell," Mella said honestly, pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "But before I left King's Landing with Arya, your father wanted to speak to me. He told me that I was Robert's only true heir. I wasn't sure what to make of it at the time."

_I am not a pawn in this game of thrones, but one of the most major players on the board._ The thought scared Mella somewhat. It should be her sitting on that throne, not Joffrey. Why would Cersei not admit the truth? Perhaps she wanted Joffrey there because he was more like her, because she could control him and hold power to some extent. Robb rolled up the letter, inspecting her critically.

"But you didn't think to tell me?"

"I didn't think it was important," Mella murmured, feeling her cheeks flush red. She'd been foolish. What good would hiding the truth do? Stannis seemed to want to tell everyone in the seven kingdoms. She should accept her birthright. She should be _fighting_ for it, as Robb fought for vengeance.

"Stannis has also declared war on the Lannisters," Robb informed her, causing her head to snap up. He killed any hopes she might have of her uncle's loyalty with his next words. "He says the throne is rightfully his, because you are a girl. Because if you marry and bear your husband children, a house other than that of House Baratheon will take control. Stannis doesn't want that. He believes the throne should pass to a male, and he is the closest male heir."

Mella recalled her twin brother, a rare occurrence considering he had died when they were babies. What if he had lived? There would be none of this now, for he was a true male heir, a stag, and he could have ascended the throne. Mella didn't particularly _want_ the throne, but she saw the opportunity to do good with the power she'd be presented with, to right so many wrongs in the kingdoms.

"_I_ am the true heir. Not Stannis."

"I know that," Robb said, a distasteful note entering his voice, "But it appears that legitimacy and honour appeal to very few in these times."

* * *

Word of Jaime's imprisonment made Mella curious, and in turn that curiosity led her to trail down to the cage where he was imprisoned. The soldiers stood guard right outside the door, as though Jaime might possibly attack her. Would they care if he did, if he killed her? In truth she was another opponent to Robb, albeit an unlikely one. While she still lived, Robb could not gain the Iron throne...unless he married her, and he wouldn't, for he was betrothed to a Frey.

"Niece," Jaime's tone was one of dry amusement, and when he looked up at her she could see that he'd grown a beard, and was filthy besides. She clenched her hands into fists. This man was one of the liars, the ones who'd made her feel that she was an outcast, when in reality all of her siblings were bastards. "I see that they captured you also."

Mella opened her mouth to say something – she wasn't quite sure what. Then her mouth snapped shut and she backhanded her uncle across the face. The blow wasn't hard enough to truly hurt him, but Jaime winced, likely because he hadn't expected such violence from her. It surprised Mella herself, and she stepped back, shocked at what she'd done. Who was she becoming?

"No. I am here of my own free will, _uncle._ Although, I suppose, I'm the only one of my dear siblings who can truly call you that, isn't that right? The others should be calling you _Father_."

"Oh dear," Jaime sighed heavily, "I see you heard about that."

"Heard about it?!" Mella repeated, her anger growing to sweltering fury, "Everyone in all of the _seven kingdoms_ has likely heard about it by now! Yet you and my mother thought you could keep it a secret. You'd rather that little beast Joffrey ruling the kingdom with no clue what he's doing than have _Robert Baratheon's_ true daughter on the throne, isn't that so? Lannisters want lions in power, not stags."

She expected some sarcastic retort from Jaime. Instead he looked at her through his curtain of too-long hair, inspecting her critically. She was truly a Baratheon, a stag. Now, it would seem that hers was the fury.

"Whose side are you on then, Mella?" he asked of her, tilting his head to the side. "Do you fight for the Starks, or the Lannisters? We're your family."

"I'm on no one's side," Mella hissed through clenched teeth, although she knew as well as Jaime did that eventually, she would have to choose. "I fight for the right to my inheritance as a true Baratheon."


	12. Little Doe

Chapter Twelve: Little Doe

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**A/N: Hey guys! Seen the first episode of Season 3? I'm so excited! Anyway, here's a new chapter, and there's a bit of Robb/Mella for you all ;)**

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There was no going back. Mella knew that now. Although Jaime was right about her having to choose a side, she had admittedly grown more self-confident about the matter. She was, after all, the rightful heir to the throne. Why could she not have her own side? Was it simply because she was female? She knew her place, but the notion of being dismissed for her gender made her skin prickle with irritation. Was that why Robb could not accept her, and proclaimed himself King in the North?

Robb Stark was clearly determined to gain more allies. Theon Greyjoy had just that morning been dispatched to the Iron Islands to convince his father Balon to support Robb. Catelyn had been evidently disapproving – Balon was not a man to be trusted. Mella already knew this due to the rebellion he had attempted against her father. Yet she contented herself to her silence. Robb would find out for himself soon enough that Balon was too proud a man to accept such an alliance.

She was somewhat astonished to be called to Robb's tent for a meeting. Of course, Mella still did speak to Robb and Catelyn, but her relationship with the Starks was quite precarious due to the fact that her brother had ordered Ned's execution. Catelyn was beginning to see that Mella, like her father, was a true friend to them – but Robb, who had cared about her so much when they had been in Winterfell, seemed as though he needed more convincing.

"Lord Stark." Mella made a point of calling him that every time she encountered him. The others would call him 'your grace', but she would coolly refer to him by his proper title. He was a Lord of Winterfell, she would give him that, but she was perhaps too proud to refer to him as a King even for the sake of maintaining some kindness between them. Robb had made things very clear when he had chosen to get himself betrothed to a daughter of Walder Frey.

"Lady Baratheon," Robb responded in turn. Mella saw that Catelyn was already present, and she wondered why exactly they had summoned her. Drawing herself up to full height, she wrapped her cloak tight around her, surmising that winter truly was coming. "My mother is travelling south to form an alliance with your uncle, Renly. We were both thinking it might be prudent for you to accompany her."

Mella understood exactly what her accompanying Catelyn implied, and she found herself rather insulted. Robb wanted to imply that the true heir to the throne championed his cause, which was not the case at all. She also did not want her uncle to think that she in any way supported his own claim to the throne. Perhaps before, Mella would have allowed herself to be downtrodden by older, stronger, _male_ candidates...but not now. She was the one true child of Robert Baratheon, and she wanted the world to know it.

"I'm sorry, but I will have to refuse that offer." Mella watched as Robb's eyes narrowed. "You see, I am the Queen of Westeros by right of blood, and I refuse to appear as though I am serving false monarchs such as you, or even my uncle. This is a mission that you must undertake alone, Lady Stark."

"I understand," Catelyn said, inclining her head formally. She seemed to hold no quarrel with Mella, but when the Princess looked to Robb, she could see that he was not at all impressed by her decision. Did he want her to leave camp? The thought made her stomach churn, but there was a possibility there. Maybe it was hard for him too, being so close to her yet unable to act on his feelings because of his betrothal...but did he even have feelings anymore?

* * *

"Do you and Robb hate each other now?" Arya sat down nibbling at an apple. With her hair cut so short and her ragged clothing, she still looked more like a little boy than a young noblewoman. She glanced across at Mella, who sitting on a rock at the edge of the camp and contemplating. It wasn't usual for her to go off in a huff, but things had changed. Westeros was on the very brink of war.

"I don't hate Robb," Mella replied softly, brushing her hair out of her eyes, "I could never hate Robb. But I think he hates me now."

"Don't be stupid," Arya chastised, tossing her apple core and watching it roll down the hill. She crossed her legs. "He's just different now. It doesn't mean he doesn't care because he's fighting a war."

"But I'm the rightful heir," Mella sighed heavily. "Robert's only daughter. Surely he sees that? Doesn't he understand that I was born for this?"

"Rightful heir?" Arya threw Mella a sharp glance. "No, you aren't. It's the right of the Targaryens, and they're all gone, because your father and the rest of them killed them. You have to fight for your right; you don't just get it handed to you."

Mella was a little taken aback by the Stark girl's belligerent wisdom. Arya spoke the truth – her father himself had been a usurper, much as she didn't like to think of it that way. Aerys Targaryen was mad...but wasn't Joffrey himself a cruel boy, who would grow into an even more sadistic man? Mella finally found herself understanding that these men contending for the throne weren't attempting to take away her birthright at all, but were securing their chance to govern Westeros in ways that they saw as better than Joffrey's.

"You're so clever," she told Arya. In truth she had grown fond of the younger girl. Mella had found company with Sansa, only three years her junior, but she also envied Arya's ability to fearlessly speak her mind. Sometimes, Mella thought she should do that more, instead of holding her peace.

"Maybe," Arya seemed a little uncertain. "But I think you should talk to Robb. He does like you. He just isn't sure, now that Father's dead."

Mella wondered what the world was coming to, when she was taking advice about her relationship with Robb from an eleven-year-old girl.

* * *

"What was that, Mella?" Robb confronted her after Catelyn's departure, striding into her tent without announcing himself. Fortunately, she was dressed and proper, but she fumed at the possibility that he could have entered at an inconvenient time. This was not the Robb she had left behind in Winterfell, as she was beginning to realise more and more often. "Why can't you accept what I'm doing? Are you so stubborn that you would continue to defy me even though you know my family is in the right and yours in the wrong?"

Mella pushed herself to her feet, blue eyes glittering with anger. Robb had gone too far this time. He really expected her to forget who she was, _what_ she was, simply because he was on a mission for justice? She clenched her hands into fists, remembering how she had struck Jaime, and trying to contain her urge to do the same to this boy that she once had loved...well, regrettably, she still did.

"You presume too much, Robb Stark," she accused, glowering heatedly. "I am neither with nor against you. I came here because I could no longer trust my family, and thought I could trust you. It didn't mean that I had chosen your side. You know as well as I do that I will fight for my throne."

"I know you will." Robb's tone softened somewhat, and he took a hesitant step forward. "I only wish I could be fighting for _you._ But it's too late now."

Fighting for _her_? Mella was slightly surprised at that. Yet she could see that Arya spoke the truth – Robb did still care about her. The reason he didn't want to show it was because of the enmity with her family, and his recent betrothal to a Frey girl. If Mella became Queen, could she revoke the betrothal? It seemed selfish in a way. No monarch should use their powers simply for their own advantage or happiness.

"Do you really want to become King of Westeros?" Mella inquired, although she thought she already knew the answer.

Robb shook his head fervently. "I didn't want any of this. I just wanted to avenge my father, and this is what I got."

They were so close now, close enough that Mella could feel Robb's warm breath in her cheek. It was a moment of peace between them and she was happy that the icy King in the North had melted somewhat. She found herself staring into those blue eyes of his – and then somehow, his lips were pressed against hers, his arms sliding around her waist to press her tight against him.

Mella didn't even allow herself to think of the what-ifs. She put her arms around Robb's neck and responded enthusiastically. His lips trailed down her jaw, peppered kisses down her neck. She gasped at the pleasant sensations his attentions gave her, her hands tightening in his dark curls. For the moment, all she could think about was Robb. He backed her into the dresser so she was pressed between him and the heavy wood, his lips still working at her neck.

She didn't know what to do with her hands. It was laughably stupid, but she had no clue what she was doing. Perhaps it came instinctively to some people, but she found herself feeling a bit awkward about it. Mella's hands came to rest on his shoulders, sliding down his arms before running over his chest. She could feel his muscles even through the fabric of his clothes. Robb's lips reached Mella's collarbone and his hands slid down to her hips.

It was an odd feeling, as though she was somehow on fire. She was burning with heat, and it was all because of Robb – but it was a _good_ heat. One of his hands ran up her back, sending pleasant little shivers up her spine.

Then it seemed that the spell was broken when she remembered that he wasn't hers to kiss. He was betrothed to a Frey girl now. Mella's hands pushed at Robb's chest and he took a step backwards. She moved away from the dresser, trying to pretend that she hadn't just enjoyed that immensely. Robb gazed questioningly at her, but Mella averted her eyes, slightly embarrassed.

"We should not have done that," she whispered.

"Why not?" Robb asked, and there was almost a sense of daring in his voice. "We were just kissing. It was not as though I intended to break my vows to whichever of Lord Frey's daughters I am to marry..."

Her head snapped up sharply. "So you're saying that you don't desire me _that_ much?"

"That's not what I meant!" Robb exclaimed, raking a hand through his dark curly hair. A flush coloured his cheeks, and Mella couldn't help but find it endearing. "I do want to. That's the entire problem. I want to marry you and bed you and have many children...but I can't. _We_ can't."

Mella couldn't help but wonder...what now? She couldn't linger hopelessly at Robb's camp, waiting for a chance with him that she would now never receive. She needed to take action of her own. Perhaps it would be wise to go south, try and pull together an army – but no. What army follow the commands of a girl of sixteen? They would want a powerful leader, a _man._ She had to prove her worth, and she felt that her only choice was staying in the north, until she proved that she truly was Robert Baratheon's sole heir.

* * *

"That little _bitch_," Joffrey seethed. Although he was King now, it would seem all he was ever hearing about nowadays was _Mella._ She had vanished from the capital and ended up in the north. There was dispute over whether she had gone willingly or not, but Joffrey was angry, and somewhat jealous, that there was so much attention being paid to his older sister. Some even claimed that if the rumours of Joffrey's parentage were true, she had a better claim to the throne than him.

"It isn't Mella's fault, my sweet," Cersei insisted with a false smile. "You know those Starks are treasonous. I would be willing to bet one of Ned Stark's men survived the slaughter and spirited her north."

"That's not what I'm concerned about," Joffrey snapped, glaring at his mother. Now that he was King, she was also one of his subjects, and she would do well to remember it. "I don't care where Mella is. I've heard rumours, Mother. They say she might wed _Robb Stark_ and try to cement her claim to the throne. I'm the true King. _Me._ Anyone who says otherwise is a liar."

"Of course they are," Cersei attempted to soothe Joffrey, but that was growing harder of late. She worried too, although her concerns were far less selfish than Joffrey's. She wanted Mella back, and Jaime too. Mella was Robert Baratheon's one true child, but no one else could know of that.

"A thousand golden dragons," Joffrey stated, before nodding in satisfaction. It seemed to Cersei a very steep price indeed. "A thousand to whoever brings my _lovely_ older sister back to King's Landing. I don't care if she comes willingly or kicking and screaming, so long as she's _here_ and not out involved in whatever rebellions Uncle Renly and Uncle Stannis are stirring up."

Cersei was beginning to wonder what the truth was. Had Mella fled the capital? She had shown no sign of discontent. Cersei worried about her, how the Starks might be treating her. _Sweetling, please come home._


	13. Ours Is The Throne

Chapter Thirteen: Ours Is The Throne

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**A/N: A huge thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing! I never thought I'd get over 100 favourites and over 200 follows for just 12 chapters! Honestly, you guys are amazing. Hope you enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

Mella had seen blood before. She had been in the stands during the many tourneys her father had liked to throw, watching with fists clenched so tight her knuckles turned white. She had seen men thrown from horses, even one or two with their heads lopped off. Although the blood was sucked up by the greedy dirt, the pitches were cleaned, the stain swept away. But that had all been for the sake of entertainment.

War was a different matter completely. Robb had raised his eyebrows at Mella's insistence upon helping with the wounded. A Princess did not involve herself in such gruesome matters...yet Mella knew that during this war, she could not afford to wear a Princess's fragility. Her skin had to be tougher than that, especially if she ever hoped to take back the throne that was rightfully hers.

She knelt in the dirt with a young Stark soldier's head rested against her, trying desperately to calm his whimpers of pain as she attempted to bandage a horrible wound on his leg. Looking up, Mella noticed that Robb was patrolling through the ranks, checking on the injured. It was a miracle that he himself had escaped severe wounds during the battle, but no doubt these northerners would do anything to protect their King.

Word had reached the Stark camp from King's Landing, of the purging of all Robert's bastards – even the small children and the babies. Mella was disgusted, wondering whether Cersei or Joffrey would have had the audacity to allow such a horrific act. Likely her younger brother, knowing him. Shaking her head, Mella tied the knot a little tighter than she meant to, making the man she was tending to yelp.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, picking at the knot hastily. Boots crunched across the soil and when she looked up, Robb was standing over her. He inspected her, then the man she was tending to. He appeared somewhat surprised that a Princess would have some idea of what she was doing.

"He's going to lose that leg."

Mella frowned at Robb's bluntness, which only served to make the man blubber and panic even more. He was supposed to be giving his men hope. All she'd seen lately were grim truths all around her. Sometimes it was better to sweeten the blow, rather than deliver it so fast and harshly. Robb had grown up, but it would seem that his brutal honesty was something that wouldn't change.

"No!" the man exclaimed, "No, please, it will heal, I know it will!"

"It's going to fester," Robb stated, kneeling beside them with the clinking of his armour. "It's better that you lose it now rather than dying from an infection."

Mella pressed her lips together. Perhaps Robb didn't think she was capable of an amputation. Or maybe she was just imagining things. Likely Robb wanted them to work together to save this man's life. Robb handed Mella a sharp knife and offered the man something to bite down on. Mella examined the wound on the man's leg and took a deep breath. Robb was right – it was never going to heal properly. She knew that there would be no milk of the poppy to soothe this man's pain, not when money was being spent on other, more important things for the war effort.

"Can you do this?" Robb questioned, and when Mella glanced at him, she saw no challenge or hostility. There was sympathy in his eyes, although whether it was for what she had to do or the pain the injured man she was going to suffer, Mella wasn't sure. She steeled herself and nodded. If all the men claiming their right to the throne could fight battles, then the least she could do was amputate a man's leg.

She nodded briskly and set about her work. Mella shrank away inside herself, distancing herself from what she was doing and the man's screams. She didn't know how long it took to cut through flesh and bone, until the leg was finally removed. When she was finished, Mella calmly wiped the knife on a cloth, but her hands were shaking. Murmuring an excuse, she pushed herself to her feet, feeling as though she might faint at any moment.

Mella grabbed blindly at a tree branch and used it to hold herself up as she vomited on the grass. She was a shaking, horrified mess. The man's blood still stained her hands, and her dress, and no matter how hard she tried she couldn't wipe it all off. Fighting back panic, Mella fiercely told herself that she would _not_ cry. She took a deep breath and screwed her eyes shut, nearly screaming when someone touched her arm.

"Mella?" It was Robb. Her eyes flicked open and when he saw how shaken she was, he pulled her into his arms and held her close. He didn't seem to care that there was still blood on her skin, and that she must have smelled horrible, and that her hair was a mess. Because Robb had witnessed Mella's courage in cutting off that man's leg, and to him, Mella Baratheon had never been more beautiful.

* * *

"Catelyn Stark, it's good that we can speak in private."

Catelyn followed Renly Baratheon into his tent, gazing about her with lips pressed tight in disapproval. Renly's camp appeared to have the sort of lively attitude of a tourney, rather than the serious demeanour that Robb and many of his men possessed. No doubt he thought that war was some kind of game. However, allying with Renly would have many benefits, so she didn't voice her thoughts on the matter.

"Have you thought about what I said?" Catelyn asked, watching as Renly seated himself and gestured for her to sit opposite him. He poured them both a glass of wine, and Catelyn politely refused hers. "I think that my son would make a good ally. However, you aware that we have your niece and Robert's daughter, Mella, at our camp?"

Renly was very much aware of this. It seemed to him that Catelyn Stark was attempting to use Mella as a show of power. He frowned and leaned back in his chair, swilling his wine.

"I am aware. What of it?"

"My lord, Mella Baratheon is the rightful heir to the throne." Catelyn sat up proudly. She had not come so far to be a meek and mild woman, who would allow Renly to speak up over her. She would have her say and hope that he would listen. "If we joined forces and you backed Mella's claim to the throne – after all, it is stronger than your own..."

Renly laughed aloud. "Forgive me for being presumptuous, Lady Stark, but it sounds as though you wish to install Mella on the throne only so that your son can marry her and become a legitimate King."

Catelyn couldn't deny that there was an element of truth in Renly's words. Yes, it would give Robb a very strong claim to the throne...but she also thought that Mella Baratheon, as the trueborn daughter of Robert, was more deserving of the throne than either of Robert's younger brothers. She smiled tolerantly.

"My son is betrothed to one of Lord Frey's daughters."

Renly leaned forward in his chair. "Did you really come all this way because you thought I'd believe my niece has a better chance at the throne? Mella is a sweet girl, and legitimate unlike the rest of her siblings, but that's the problem...she's a _girl_. Not to mention she's only just turned seventeen. A girl that young and inexperienced? She won't make a good monarch."

Catelyn bit back a retort as Renly took a sip of his wine. Mella was mature for her years, and Renly certainly wasn't much older than Robb and Mella himself. She had demonstrated herself to be sensible – knowing that Robb, who the girl cared about deeply, was betrothed to another woman could not have been easy for it, yet she had handled the situation with a grace Catelyn hadn't expected of her.

"She will make a better monarch than Joffrey," Catelyn replied.

"But I'll make a better one than either," Renly insisted, finishing off his wine and picking up the cup Catelyn had forsaken. "I was on Robert's small council, I have a good idea of what it means to rule. Joffrey is psychotic and Mella? I don't think she would have a clue what she's doing what it comes to ruling a kingdom."

"Ruling comes through experience," Catelyn stated coolly. Robb had had no indication of what to do after Ned died, but he'd been doing brilliantly so far. Her heart swelled with pride and she had no doubt that Ned would be very proud of his oldest son. "Mella can only gain experience through learning from her mistakes, as Robert did."

Renly lapsed into silence, as they both knew Robert _hadn't_ learned from his mistakes. He had continued to drink and whore his way through life until his untimely death. Mella wasn't her father, but would she learn from her mistakes? Catelyn thought that she was the type who would, but clearly, Renly wasn't so sure.

* * *

Mella lay awake staring at the candle beside her bed, the flame flickering gently in the slight breeze that swept through the tent. Every time she closed her eyes, the images of that poor man and his leg came back. She fought back a shudder of revulsion. She didn't by any means regret what she'd done to save his life, but the gruesome memory was one that would stay with her for some time.

With a heavy sigh, she rolled onto her back, condemning herself to a sleepless night. A sudden shadow caught her eye, and she started, at first thinking it had been a trick of the candlelight. Then she noticed that it was real, a shadow standing inside her tent with a knife that shone ominously. Mella froze up for just a moment, before a shocked cry ejected from her mouth and she scrambled upwards, her feet tangling in the sheets.

The figure lunged at her, their face being thrown into the wan light of the candle – a young man, perhaps only a few years older than herself. Mella didn't have any weapons; she didn't know how to fight. Her only panicked thought was to throw her blankets over the assassin as she scrambled to her feet. He flailed and slashed at the material as she sprinted for the flap of her tent, but it took mere moments for him to dispose of the torn sheets and run after her, throwing her to the ground.

Mella screamed. She didn't want to die, and even if she did, it wouldn't be like this. The assassin attempted to pin her, but she flailed wildly, gripping his wrist and trying to force the knife away from her throat. Everything seemed to happen so fast. She kept expecting the knife to come stabbing downwards, and so she pushed with what little strength she had, her arms burning with the effort of keeping the blade from piercing her throat.

"Keep still, you little bitch," the man above her hissed, but his words only encouraged Mella to fight harder and with more ferocity. The knife cut against her arms, but she didn't care, even when her own blood spattered across her face. The tent flap was ripped open and then people were charging across the room. Mella's world was a blur as the assassin was pulled off her and hauled to his feet, and then Robb was kneeling beside her, his blue eyes wide with concern.

"Mella. Mella! Are you alright?"

It took her a moment to shift back into reality and comprehend what Robb was saying. She stared down at the cuts across her arms, small crimson rivulet dripping down her pale skin. Blood, her blood...but she was still alive, and that was what mattered. Robb leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Mella's cheek, helping her to her feet and putting an arm around her waist to support her when he swayed.

"Why did you try and kill her?" Robb demanded of the assassin, who wasn't even attempting to fight against the men holding him. There were quite a few of them in here, Mella realised. They must have heard her scream and come running. Or Robb had ran, and the rest of them had followed.

"Cersei wanted her brought back alive," the man said, before a wicked smile graced his lips. "But Joffrey didn't. She's a threat, you see. They all say he's illegitimate, and that she's not. So why would he let her live if she could steal his throne?"

Mella was shocked into silence. She knew that she and Joffrey had never exactly been on good terms...but she hadn't anticipated her younger brother trying to kill her. The notion sent chills down her spine, and even as the assassin was dragged away, she knew that she was not safe. She'd never be safe, not while Joffrey was alive, because he would keep sending people after her to ensure that she would never have the throne he insisted was his.


	14. King's Landing

Chapter Fourteen: King's Landing

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**A/N: Hello, my lovelies! I'm sorry it's taken this long to get out another chapter, but I've been so busy with upcoming exams and...enough excuses. Things are about to take a drastic turn for Mella and Robb...don't worry, they will be together eventually, but for now they each have their own paths to follow before that can happen.**

* * *

"I've lost one daughter, and now you take another from me." Cersei watched as a sobbing Myrcella was rowed out towards the ship that waited to take her to Dorne. It was the perfect day for a sea voyage, with not a cloud lingering above King's Landing. Yet Cersei felt that it was so very cold, and she turned and glowered hatefully at Tyrion. What gave him the right to sell Myrcella off to the Martells? He was Hand of the King, but she was Myrcella's _mother_. Surely that should count for more.

"I had nothing to do with Mella's disappearance," Tyrion stated smoothly. Cersei didn't see that an alliance with the Dornish would be beneficial. Doran was still healing from the wounds left behind from his sister's death, and a marriage to a member of the royal family would surely appease him. Besides, it was better that they allied with the Dornish before the Starks or the Baratheons.

"One of my daughters is being held by the Starks and another by the Martells." Cersei's mouth twisted into a firm, angry line. She liked her children to be close to her, where she could make sure they were safe. The idea of both of her daughters being so far from home was distressing to her.

"Mella left of her own free will," Tyrion insisted quietly, causing Cersei to turn on him, emerald green eyes flashing with anger. She looked as though she dearly wished to slap her younger brother, although of course she couldn't get away with such an action in public.

"That is _not_ true," Cersei hissed, "She was upset about the tension between ourselves and the Starks and rode out only to be captured by an opportunistic Robb Stark. Now he holds her political prisoner and would no doubt worry her to secure a claim to the throne."

Tyrion didn't think Cersei believed in herself any more than he believed her. It was clear that Ned Stark had said something to the girl before his execution, and he strongly suspected that it was related to his claims that Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen were illegitimate. Had the revelation of that apparent truth been enough to drive Mella away from her family? She was a girl of seventeen, and more free-willed than the others. Tyrion thought it was a positive thing that Cersei hadn't sank her claws into Mella enough so that the girl would blindly believe whatever her mother told her.

"I want her home, Tyrion." Cersei played with her hands, as she had a tendency to do whenever she was distressed. "Haven't you heard the news from the south? Renly Baratheon is dead. Someone has killed him, and while I'm not complaining, it's only a matter of time before someone in that Stark boy's camp hurts my Mella."

"I doubt that," Tyrion responded coolly. Mella had been quite the popular one around King's Landing. Her mother and brother might have blatantly ignored the people, but she had been the one to raise her hand and wave and smile. Like she truly _cared_. Tyrion had no doubt at all that she would make a better Queen than her mother, and rule far less ruthlessly than Joffrey. "Besides, you sent Petyr Baelish to negotiate with Catelyn in the Stormlands for Mella's release. I'm sure that the woman would trade your daughter for hers."

* * *

Mella's injuries from the attack were not as severe as Robb had expected. Her arms were cut up in several places, but other than that, it would seem she had managed to hold her own against the would-be assassin. He found himself checking on her constantly, determined to ensure that she was well. Mella often picked at the bandages that covered up her cuts. Robb wasn't certain if it was because they were itchy, or because she wanted to check up on the damage for herself.

"How are you feeling?" He sat beside her bed, examining her closely. No longer did he see a defenceless, spoilt Princess. Mella had grown over the past few months, she had matured infinitely. He saw a beautiful, resolute young woman and he wished that he could marry her more than ever. She would make a fantastic Queen, but the Freys would forever hold it against him if he forsook his promise.

"I'm the same as last time you asked," Mella murmured, a slight smile spreading across her lips. Robb's concern made her feel a bit better, and she couldn't forget how protective he had been of her when the assassin was caught. It was a nice feeling, yet it was one she knew couldn't possibly last.

"Robb..." Both of them looked up as Catelyn entered the tent, dirt-spattered and dishevelled like she had been riding hard for days. She was accompanied by a blonde giant of a woman, over six feet tall, however she hesitated when she saw Mella in bed with white bandages wrapped around her arms. Robb immediately pushed himself to his feet, glancing between his mother and the blonde woman.

"Mother? You're back so soon. Did Renly agree to an alliance?"

"I would rather talk about it in private," Catelyn glanced pointedly at Mella. It wasn't that she didn't trust the girl, but rather because the news of Renly's death would unsettle her. Whatever had happened to Mella, she was injured, and the last thing she needed was more stress.

"Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of me." Mella sat up straighter, blue eyes bright and burning. In that instant, Catelyn could definitely see her as a future Queen of Westeros. She didn't think she had ever seen the girl so assertive. When Robb did not comment, Catelyn took his silence to mean he agreed with Mella, and she sighed heavily.

"Renly is dead. He was killed by...well, we don't quite know what. Brienne and I fled before Stannis and his men could arrive. I'm so sorry, Mella. There was nothing we could have done to save him."

Mella stiffened, clutching at her bed-sheets. She suddenly felt afraid. Was this some sort of conspiracy, or was it merely coincidence that she and her uncle had both been attacked within days of each other? A cold chill ran down her spine, but she ignored it and pushed herself to her feet. Robb attempted to help her, but she gently nudged him aside. She would not be seen as weak any longer. She and Renly had been quite close, in years as well as in terms of their relationship. It was a shock to hear that such a terrible thing had befallen him.

"What happened to you, Lady Baratheon?" Catelyn inquired, examining Mella's heavily bandaged arms once more.

"She was attacked also," Robb said heavily, raking a hand through his dark curls and glancing meaningfully at his mother. "An assassin sent by Joffrey. She isn't safe from him. What if he orders someone to try again?"

"What would you suggest we do?" Catelyn inquired, her voice rising in volume slightly as her impatience grew. "The only place she could truly be safe is with her family in King's Landing. Are you suggesting we send her back to Cersei?"

"Perhaps that's what you should do," Mella said evenly, causing both Catelyn and Robb to turn their attention on her. Robb's eyes widened and he crossed over to her, taking her hands in his and shaking his head.

"You don't mean that. Why would you go back?"

A smile tweaked at Mella's lips, but her eyes remained cold. "To gain the throne Joffrey is keeping warm for me."

* * *

Mella soon realised that despite her desire to gain the Iron throne, there was a lot that still needed to be done in the north. This was proved when Jaime strangled Lord Karstark's son to death with his chains in an attempt to escape. His actions led to fury all around the camp – Lord Karstark wanted Jaime put to death, while Robb continued to assure him that the Kingslayer was worth more to them alive.

"You can't kill him," Mella insisted as she wandered over to where Robb and Karstark were arguing. She no longer needed to wear bandages on her arms, but even if it hadn't been so damn cold, she would have worn dresses with long sleeves to cover up the still healing cuts on her pale skin. "Robb's right. You need him if you want to get Sansa back."

Karstark spun around to face her, eyes burning like hot coals. "We don't need him. We have you, don't we? I bet you're desperate to get back to your family in King's Landing, little Lannister spy."

"I am not a spy!" Mella retorted hotly. She could understand why Karstark spoke to her so hatefully – she reminded him of everything he was fighting against. She had come to the Stark camp of her own free will...was it right? Or was it really time that she returned home, and attempted to bargain for Sansa's freedom? Yet if Mella knew her mother, she knew Cersei would not want to let the Stark girl go so easily.

"You are speaking to the daughter of Robert Baratheon," Robb reminded Karstark, his voice suddenly turning as cold as winter. "She is to be addressed as Lady Baratheon. I know you have just lost your son, but that is no excuse for disrespect. Mella was not the one who killed him."

"Yet you refuse to bring justice to the one who did!" Karstark exclaimed in irritation, hands clenching and unclenching. Mella could understand his anger – if anyone hurt a member of her family, she would desire vengeance. Well, with the exception of Joffrey.

"Justice will come," Robb assured Karstark, valiantly trying to retain his calm. "But for now, we must be patient. The Kingslayer has value as a prisoner. He's no good to us dead."

* * *

Someone shook Mella from her sleep and she immediately flailed, panicking and readying herself to fight whatever attacker Joffrey had sent this time. However when she bolted upright, she noticed that it was only Catelyn. Mella sucked in a deep breath, pressing a hand over her heart as if that could slow its frantic beating. The older woman pressed a finger to her lips and beckoned. Hesitantly, Mella tossed aside the sheets and clambered out of bed.

"Quickly," Catelyn whispered, eyes darting towards the tent entrance. "You must dress. We have something to do."

Mella was puzzled, but hastened to do as Catelyn asked. She did up her dress with clumsy fingers, her arms still sometimes unreliable due to still healing up. Catelyn swept over to help her with the tricky laces, before handing Mella a cloak, which the dark-haired girl wordlessly tied around her shoulders. She pulled up the hood as they ventured out into the frigid night. Mella wrapped her arms tight around herself, and she found that as they approached Jaime's cage, she was growing even colder.

Brienne stood patiently waiting outside, inclining her head respectfully as Catelyn and Mella approached. She wordlessly handed Catelyn the keys, and Mella watched with growing apprehension as Lady Stark opened the cell. Was she going to have Jaime killed herself? Why had she summoned Mella? The thought of bearing witness to her uncle's execution didn't make Mella feel quite as disgusted as she might have before all of this.

"Are you going to kill him?" she asked, her voice hoarse as the words seemed to catch in her throat. At first Catelyn did not answer, but Jaime looked up sharply at the _click_ of his chains being undone. He frowned as he glanced between Catelyn and Brienne. There was suspicion written all over his grimy face, before his eyes rested on Mella.

"You know, I can generally ascertain most things, but as to what you plan to do with me, I really have no idea. Care to explain?"

"Shut up," Brienne stated as she hauled Jaime to his feet and out of the cage.

"You are going to return to King's Landing," Catelyn told Jaime firmly, and Mella realised with a hint of pride that Lady Stark was smarter than she'd first given her credit for. "You go there, and then you will return my daughters to me. Brienne will ensure that you do so. I am releasing you on good faith, Kingslayer. Can I hold you to your word?"

"Considering I swore an oath to Aerys Targaryen and then stabbed him in the back..." Jaime considered this momentarily. "I would say not."

"I'll accompany them." The words were out of Mella's mouth before she could stop herself. Was this why Catelyn had brought her down here, or had it merely been to farewell her uncle? However, now that Jaime was intended to return to King's Landing, Mella could see opportunities for her arising. Of course, Robb would hate her for leaving him, but sometimes sacrifices needed to be made.

Brienne glanced at her. "Forgive me, Lady Baratheon, but the road we take will be too dangerous for you."

Mella didn't care about dangerous. Who would harm the Princess if bringing her to King's Landing would result in far more money than they could ever have dreamed of? Although Joffrey would be greatly displeased, Mella knew for certain that Cersei would be overjoyed to see her again.

"Danger does not deter me, Brienne. I am sure with you and my uncle present, nothing ill could befall me on the road."

"We travel on foot, my lady," Brienne insisted, while Jaime remained uncharacteristically silent. He watched his niece with careful eyes. She was certainly much changed from the shielded young woman who had accompanied her family to Winterfell, what seemed like forever ago.

"If we find a horse, I would be happy to ride the remainder of the journey," Mella stated calmly. She knew that riding _alone_ was practically unspeakable for one of her station, but sometimes risks had to be taken. As an independent party on no one's side, Mella thought it may be possible for her to discuss peace terms with Cersei and Joffrey. However, the more she wanted to believe herself a neutral person, the more Mella started to realise that her allegiance laid in the same place as her heart.


	15. You'll Never Know What Hit You

Chapter Fifteen: You'll Never Know What Hit You

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**A/N: Ugh, this chapter was definitely a challenge to write! I really hope that I got Stannis and Melisandre in character - they were my main concerns.**

**Next chapter is where big things are really going to start happening, including the appearance of some Martells, and a certain Targaryen...please review! You guys are so very amazing, and I love hearing from all of you!**

**Also, if any of you are Jaime fans, I've started a Jaime/OC called From The Ashes. I'd love it if you checked it out!**

* * *

"You did _what_?" Robb was on the verge of exploding, his hands clenched into tight fists of rage. His own mother had betrayed him. Not only had she seen fit to free Jaime Lannister from his prison, but she hadn't informed him of Mella's departure. Robb knew it was because he would have tried to stop the Baratheon girl, but nonetheless, it was not his mother's place to suppress such information. He swallowed hard, eyes narrowing as he inspected his mother. "You are a traitor. You freed the Kingslayer."

"I did what I had to for our family! For your sister!" Catelyn exclaimed, pacing the tent in which she had become her own son's prisoner. Robb was a man now, and he understood the costs and repercussions of war – but he didn't seem to see any other solution. If Mella and Jaime could help them, perhaps they wouldn't have to lose all these men for nothing. The fight had broken out because the Lannisters had killed Ned, but perhaps Robb seemed to have forgotten what they were fighting for.

"You sent Mella along with him!" Robb exploded, raking his hands through his dark hair. Why did it affect him so much? He knew the answer, much as he tried to dissuade himself from thinking it was the truth.

"She agreed to it of her own will," Catelyn said quietly, watching her son with sympathy in her blue eyes. "I know you care for Mella, but surely you can respect her decisions. This is no place for her, Robb. She wants to return to her family."

"Don't say that," Robb snarled, turning on Catelyn with his eyes cold as winter. He didn't want to believe that Mella had left him, forsaken _them_…but there was no 'them', not when he was betrothed to another. Mella had the sense to see that, even if Robb refused to. "Her family betrayed her, lied to her. Why would she want to go back to them?"

"Cersei is still her mother," Catelyn reminded Robb. No matter the situation, mothers had a bond with their children that others could not understand. Catelyn knew that Cersei was a manipulative and often cruel woman, but Mella was her daughter, and no war ripping Westeros apart would change that fact. "Besides, perhaps Mella will be able to help Jaime bargain to get Sansa back."

"Are you really that naïve?" Robb demanded irritably, before he pressed his face into his hands and sighed. He had been snappy of late, and it wasn't fair of him to take his problems out on his mother. "I'm sorry, Mother. I just don't know that this was the wisest idea."

"Your Grace." One of Robb's men entered the tent with a scroll of parchment in his hand. Robb opened his mouth to chastise him, then closed it abruptly. There was a grim look in the man's eyes as he handed the letter to Robb. "I bring grave news. Winterfell has fallen to Theon Greyjoy."

* * *

"We should buy Mella a horse," Jaime insisted as they traipsed through the trees on foot. He had seen how many times the Princess had to gather her skirts to avoid tripping over a tree root or stepping in mud. It was not only that, but Mella was an attractive young woman travelling through dangerous territory. The faster she got to King's Landing, the better.

The dark-haired girl turned to glare at her uncle. "You are meant to remain quiet."

"We will get her a horse when there is opportunity to," Brienne stated briskly. She could not disagree with Jaime's suggestion – she would feel much safer if Mella was able to get to King's Landing quickly, even if she did travel alone. They had already made it almost halfway without incident, yet although Mella had tried her best to conceal herself, there were prying eyes all over the kingdom.

"Is it true that you threw Bran from the tower because he witnessed you and my mother?" Mella's hard eyes were fixated on Jaime, and he was certain that he would see no mercy from her. The girl had been lied to by her family, and had to discover the truth from the Starks. "Is it true that my siblings are conceived of incest between you and the Queen?"

"I don't really want to talk about this now," Jaime said dryly, darting a suspicious glance at Brienne. The woman tugged at his ropes, causing him to grimace. He was filthy and bearded, a long way from the groomed and handsome man who had rode out from King's Landing to raise an army.

"You'd never want to talk about it," Mella shot back at him, cursing in a very unladylike fashion as the hem of her dress got caught on a fallen branch. Brienne sighed heavily and handed her a knife. After a brief look of astonishment, Mella leaned down and sliced at the hem of her dress. She would appear in King's Landing like a beggar before her brother and mother, but perhaps she was too proud now to care what they thought of her. She would contest Joffrey's right to rule, and perhaps even become Queen – but things would not be that simple. She found herself missing Robb more than ever.

"I will, but only at the right time, which isn't now." Jaime continued to wander along, feeling like a fool with his hands tied in front of him. What was he meant to tell the girl, that she was her father's sole true heir? She would have figured that much out from the rumours in any case, as it seemed she believed them. What more was there that could possibly be said?

"It's never the right time," Mella said icily, returning the knife to Brienne as they continued to walk. Her feet were sore and her legs ached from the constant trekking, but she was not going to complain. Mella was no longer a spoilt little Princess, and she was determined to prove that in any way she could.

"There's a small village up ahead," Brienne pointed out, beginning to tire of the bickering between the Princess and the Kingslayer. "We will see if we can find you a horse there, Princess Mella. However, I'm not sure that riding to King's Landing alone would be…"

"It's only a few days' hard ride from here," Mella interjected, tossing back her dark braid. It had been sensible to tie her raven-coloured hair back when it kept snagging in branches. It was either that, or cut it short, and she had baulked at that idea. "So long as I have some supplies, I will be alright. I am a good rider, and I can spend the night in taverns. Once I tell the owner who I am…"

"That would be stupid," Jaime contradicted her, causing Mella's cheeks to flame red as she glowered across at him. "That's practically giving them permission to hold you hostage in order to get money from our family, or even the Starks. They could see who the higher bidder is. You would be better off pretending to be a squire or young knight. We can get you clothes…"

"My hair is too long for me to pass as a boy," Mella protested, her voice hitching slightly as she realised what must happen. It was utterly ridiculous to be vain about such a thing, she knew that. Yet she had always been proud of her onyx locks, of how long and silky her hair had grown to be.

"Brienne." Jaime's tone was heavy. "Would you do the honour? I'm a little tied up, as you can see."

"If you would sit, Princess." Brienne's tone was kind, but Mella felt her hands shaking as she sat down on a log. Her eyes burned and she was furious and ashamed of herself. _I will not cry. Not over something as insignificant as this._ So she screwed her eyes shut as Brienne started to cut at her hair with the knife.

* * *

Stannis Baratheon was fuming. He had lost the Battle of Blackwater, and many of his men in the process. Melisandre had predicted victory – but he was yet to have one. Gritting his teeth, he whipped around as the red woman herself entered the room. Stannis regarded her closely. Davos did not trust her, but then again, Davos was not a true believer in the Lord of Light. Was Stannis? He couldn't be certain, but he believed in whatever was the most likely to bring him victory.

"You seem troubled, my King." Melisandre crossed over to him in a swirl of red silks. Stannis looked out of the window once more, watching the waves crashing over the rocks. Storm's End was a sure sight nicer than Dragonstone. Why Robert had given their ancestral home to Renly, the _youngest_ brother, was beyond him. Robert had been a fool, and now he was dead. Stannis should be King – and yet there was one who rivalled him, whose claim was surely better than his, and that bothered him.

"Of course I'm troubled," Stannis replied brusquely, glancing over his shoulder at her. "We lost the battle, don't you remember? You promised victory, but where is it?"

"The Lord of Light has seen fit to test you." Melisandre placed a soothing hand on Stannis's arm. Her presence at times aggravated him, yet her touch always seemed to bring him peace. He relaxed without meaning to. "There is an obstacle in the way, one which would prevent you from taking the throne. You are his champion, your Grace, but there is another who claims to be. She is unfit for the throne."

"Mella." Stannis grated the word out. He had never exactly disliked the girl – she had been a far kinder person than Joffrey – but he had found himself hoping without believing that Mella had been another of Cersei's bastard children with Jaime. Yet how could she be? She was Robert's very image. Mella had a better claim, even Stannis could not argue with that – yet she was a mere girl of seventeen, little more than a child, and female. It would be ridiculous to have a child Queen.

"Robert's daughter." Melisandre spoke with something like disdain in her voice. "The daughter of a drunk stag and a manipulative lion. The people of Westeros will not want such a Queen. The Lord of Light would see her blood shed to make you King."

"And you're sure of that, are you?" Stannis's tone was sour. "Last I heard, the girl was north with the Starks. What if she makes an ally of them? I cannot afford to have her raising an army against me. I already have too many battles to fight."

"There is another." Melisandre's voice was soft, like a whisper on the wind, and for some reason it sent chills running down Stannis's spine. He turned to fully face her then, brow furrowing into a frown.

"Another what?"

"Another claimant for the throne." Melisandre crossed over to the flames, watching intently. The news had troubled her, but the Lord of Light had never been wrong before. The flames writhed and danced before her eyes. _Fire and blood. _"A dragon."

"A Targaryen?" Alarm bells started to ring in Stannis's head, before he shook them away. "They are all dead."

"Not this one." Melisandre's voice grew louder and more confident as she turned her attention away from the beckoning of the fire. "The princeling is of Aerys's blood, and he wants the crown he is entitled to. There is also another still living, Aerys's only daughter."

Stannis raked a hand through his hair. He'd heard the rumours, but he had not been certain that they were true. So it was not only Daenerys, but another Targaryen. Considering Viserys had died in Essos, it was likely Aegon…but how could that be? The boy's skull had been smashed against a wall.

"Is she coming to claim the throne too?"

"The flames say that she is Mother of Dragons and freer of slaves," Melisandre stated, with a shrug of her shoulders. "They say nothing about her return."

* * *

Mella raked her fingers through her absurdly short hair, self-conscious as she entered King's Landing. Her hair was almost shoulder-length, but she still felt…well, like she could be a boy. It was ideal for the journey, but now that she had reached her destination, she was uncomfortable with appearing so untidily in front of her family. Mella looked up at the Red Keep, shielding her eyes from the sun as she rode towards the gates. The guards barred the way and she stared haughtily down at them.

"Do you not recognise your Princess when you see her?"

They were immediately stumbling over themselves to allow her through, apologising profusely but deliberately making no comment on her hair or peasant attire. It was her sense of authority that shone through. Even dressed as a pauper, Mella's demeanour marked her out for what she was.

"You have returned, Princess Mella."

She spun around to see Petyr Baelish striding across the courtyard towards her. No doubt his spies had been following her, and Mella shuddered to think that even disguised as a boy, there were still people who had the ability to find her. He bowed deeply, but Mella did not miss how his lip curled at her attire.

"Indeed I have, Lord Baelish. I noticed many soldiers in the streets. Has there been some kind of trouble in my absence?"

"Your uncle Stannis attempted to take the city from ships," Petyr offered her a wan smile. "As you can no doubt see, we were the victors."

"Of course." Mella had never liked Petyr and she liked him less right now. She could tell when she was being judged, and Petyr was judging her severely. "Where would my mother and brother happen to be, do you know?"

"May I suggest a bath and clean clothes first, Princess?" Petyr's eyes lingered on her hair and raked over her clothing. Mella had been uncertain of whether she should appear before her family as she was, or whether she should pretty herself up first. Petyr's question made her decision for her, and she forced a smile.

"Oh, no. I think I will appear before my family _right away_."

"Of course." Petyr's lips thinned, but he would not dare contradict her. He began to stride through the corridors and Mella followed him, matching his pace. "Many things have happened in your absence. Your grandfather Lord Tywin is now Hand of the King, and Joffrey's betrothal to Sansa has been terminated in favour of Margaery Tyrell."

"What will happen to Sansa now?" Mella inquired, unable to help but be concerned for the younger girl. King's Landing was not a safe place if you were branded an enemy of the crown.

Petyr waved a dismissive hand. "She will remain here, as leverage against her brother."

Mella entered the throne room, where Petyr stopped at the door, gesturing for her to go inside. Joffrey was sitting on the throne, conversing – or rather, arguing – with Cersei. They both fell silent and turned as Mella's too-big boots clacked across the tiles. A sneer contorted Cersei's face.

"Who sent _you_ in? You have not been granted an audience with his Grace…"

"Hello, Mother." Mella's tone was completely devoid of emotion, and she watched the sudden change in Cersei's attitude. The Queen's green eyes widened and she pressed a hand over her mouth as if to stifle a shriek. She descended the stairs and went to embrace her daughter, but then seemed to think the better of it upon inspection of Mella's clothes.

"Mella? Goodness, what are you wearing? What happened to your hair? Are you alright, my sweet girl?"

Mella looked over Cersei's shoulder to see Joffrey scowling deeply. He was clearly not pleased with her return, and she could hazard a guess as to why. Of course he didn't want to see the sister he had attempted to kill. She smiled at him, tilting her head to the side and raising her eyebrows.

"What's the matter, Joffrey? Are you not happy to see your sister alive and well?"

"The correct form of address is 'your Grace'," Joffrey corrected coldly, his eyes narrowing, "I expect propriety even from you, _sister._"

"Yet 'your Grace' is the term given to the monarch." Mella brushed past her mother and ascended the stairs to the throne. She and her younger brother were of a height, but as he was sitting in the throne, she had undermined his power play by stepping up in front of him. "And as you are not the true son of Robert Baratheon, surely you cannot be King."

"How _dare_ you!" Joffrey spat, leaping to his feet. Mella did not even flinch, for perhaps her brother's violent actions had frightened her in the past, but now he was just a little boy throwing a temper tantrum. "I am the _King_, you bitch."

"No, you aren't. You aren't even of Robert's blood." Mella turned to glance over her shoulder at Cersei. The Queen had gone rather pale and stared up at her children with the look of a rabbit cornered by a wolf. "Isn't that so, Mother?"

Mella knew that she was forcing Cersei into a compromising position. If she told the truth, her secret would be exposed. Yet if she lied, she risked the possibility of turning her own daughter away. Cersei licked her lips, glancing between Mella and Joffrey. Her black-haired little doe and her golden-haired little lion. She had to make a decision between her children. She offered them a strained smile.

"If you're talking about those ridiculous rumours, Mella dear, they are completely untrue…"

"_Liar_!" Mella roared at her, making Cersei flinch. Her temper was beginning to rise. She did not want to look at Joffrey and see the satisfied smirk on his face. "You know that I'm the only true child you had by Robert. You _know _it!"

"We will speak of this later," Cersei said, although her voice was little more than a whisper. Mella shook her head slowly, unable to believe that her mother would not admit to the truth even as it was shoved in her face. She whirled around and stormed from the throne room. Baratheons did not accept defeat. She would never forgive, and she would never, ever forget. The crimes of the past could not go unpunished.


	16. The Night Begins

**Chapter Sixteen: The Night Begins**

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**A/N: Sorry this has taken so long! In all honesty, I was a bit scared how you guys would feel about this chapter. I'm getting a lot more book characters involved and expanding on plot lines, so I'm really nervous you won't like it. Please let me know what you think, I'd really appreciate feedback, whether it be good or bad. Also thanks for the heads up about last chapter! I totally skipped over that, sorry, I've edited it now. Nearly at 200 reviews, though! Thanks so much for your support! **

* * *

Quentyn Martell knew that it was highly irregular for him to be called before his father on such short notice, which was why he believed something important must be happening. Doran Martell was a rather secretive man and preferred to keep to himself, although Quentyn was perhaps the child with which he had the most contact. He entered his father's rooms and was not surprised to see Doran sitting in his chair by himself. The Prince of Dorne looked up and gestured to the guards once his son strode in.

"Leave us."

Quentyn waited patiently as the guards made their exit. His father's hands were pulling nervously over the corners of a letter. He swept over and sat before Doran, watching his father put weights on each of the four corners. He could not see what the letter was about, but it was written in a hurried scrawl. Likely this was urgent news.

"I have received a letter from King's Landing." Doran smoothed his fingers over the parchment, looking across at his son. "One of our spies has informed me that Mella Baratheon has made her return to court."

Quentyn stifled his astonishment. The last they had heard from King's Landing was that the younger three of Robert and Cersei's children had been declared illegitimate by many, the result of an incestuous affair between the Queen and her twin brother. Mella, the oldest child and the apparent only legitimate heir, had fled north and been captured by Robb Stark…or so the rumours held.

"Does it say anything of her time in the north?" he inquired.

"Nothing." Doran sighed heavily. The truth the nature about Robb and Mella's relationship was imperative. If she was not the boy's captive then it indicated something far more troubling indeed. "However, I do have a plan in mind. We need Mella Baratheon in Dorne."

"What?" Quentyn sat up straighter. Myrcella was already in Dorne, betrothed to his younger brother Trystane. If his father intended to use Mella as leverage, he would find that he had quite enough already by using Myrcella. "Why?"

"I intend for you to marry her," Doran said bluntly, causing Quentyn to lean back in his chair. The Prince of Dorne waved a dismissive hand. "We can do without Myrcella's marriage to Trystane, but it would be wise to keep her here. A marriage to the legitimate heir to the throne will be greatly beneficial."

"How do you expect to go about such a proposal?" Quentyn asked doubtfully. He could not see Cersei agreeing to another Dornish match for her eldest child.

"Win her over and bring her south," Doran stated, his tone becoming somewhat grim. "Use force if necessary. We must have Mella Baratheon in Dorne, for without the legitimate heir, we have no claim over the throne as we once did."

Quentyn could tell that his father was thinking about Elia again. He wanted vengeance for what had happened to her. He doubted that Doran would wish harm to come to Mella, but with Robert's sole heir in Dorne, they would have a degree of control over Cersei and the rest of the Lannisters. Finally, the Martells would begin to achieve the revenge they had so long been denied.

* * *

Aegon Targaryen was feeling more invigorated than he had in a very long time. Since landing in Westeros, and with the help of the Golden Company, he had conquered Griffin's Roost. Consulting the map with Jon Connington, their next destination was Storm's End – the Baratheons' ancestral home. There had been much celebration due to the success at Griffin's Roost, but Aegon was thinking carefully. The Storm's End had him thinking about the Baratheons and their claimants to the throne.

Renly Baratheon was dead, having been killed by sorcery if the rumours were true. Stannis currently held Storm's End, with a large legion of forces composed both of his own men and those of Renly's who had joined him. Then there was the last and youngest – the alleged only true heir of Robert Baratheon, young Mella. She was a female and under the thumb of her mother, yet she had a power that even she didn't know she possessed: the ability to conceive legitimate heirs.

"What do you know of Mella Baratheon?" Aegon inquired when Jon entered the command tent. He looked weary and older than ever, although it made sense considering that he had led the recent attack. He appeared slightly surprised by the question, looking over the map where Aegon had placed a dragon marker over Griffin's Roost, and traced their path north towards Storm's End.

"She is seventeen years old and apparently Robert and Cersei's only trueborn child," Jon stated, raising his eyebrows at the query. "Why you ask, your Grace?"

"Because," Aegon took a deep breath, already knowing that Jon was going to chastise him for his decision. "I intend to make her my bride."

"What?" Jon's eyebrows flew up, and he immediately set about pacing the tent. "I don't understand why you would come to such a conclusion. You would be much better off wedding your aunt Daenerys. She has three dragons with her…"

"We don't even know that Daenerys will return to Westeros," Aegon argued, folding his arms over his chest. He had inherited his father's powerful build, and sometimes Jon thought he looked so much like Rhaegar that it hurt. "Taking the Baratheon girl as my wife would mean that our child's claim is legitimate no matter which house people support."

Jon's brow was furrowed and Aegon could tell that while his mentor did not approve of such a choice, he could understand the logic behind such a decision. Of course, Aegon had no desire for the Baratheon girl. He had not even met her, but sometimes sacrifices needed to be made for the greater good.

"How do you propose to do that?" Jon inquired, watching Aegon carefully. The boy had been taught many things, but how to gain a potential wife was not one of them.

"I threaten what is valuable to her," Aegon remarked, raking a hand through his silver hair. "Her family."

* * *

It was not often that Tyrion was visited by a member of his own family, much less Mella Baratheon. The girl had only recently returned to court and by what the whispers said, she was on thin ice with both Cersei and Joffrey after confronting her mother about the truth of the illegitimacy claims. Mella was foolish if she thought that Cersei was going to admit to such rumours, whether they were true or not. Tyrion was still uncertain what to believe, although he did have his suspicions.

"Niece," Tyrion greeted, watching as Mella stalked through his door in a swirl of crimson skirts. There had been a celebration that night due to the arrival of several important Dornish visitors, including the Prince's eldest son Quentyn. Tyrion found this a little baffling despite Quentyn's claims he wanted to learn more about culture in the capital. Mella seated herself heavily, folding her arms over her chest and looking for all the world like Cersei did when she was sulking. Tyrion sighed heavily and closed the door behind her.

"What can I do for you, Mella? I'm not exactly a busy man now that Tywin has taken over the position as Hand of the King, so I think you'll find I have time for whatever business brings you here."

"Quentyn Martell has taken an interest in me," Mella stated brusquely, seeing no point in procrastination. The young Dornish man had immediately taken a shine to her, offering her refills of wine and talking to her about the most inane things. While he had been rather awkward at times, there had been no doubt in Mella's mind that Quentyn was trying to charm her. Alarm bells had sounded through the haze of alcohol, and she had politely excused herself from the feast.

Quentyn and his companions claimed to be in King's Landing to learn more about Westerosi culture in places other than Dorne, but Mella was not certain that she thought this was true. Could not schoolbooks and historians teach them enough, or was learning about it firsthand truly such a pressing matter? She leaned back in her chair as Tyrion took a seat opposite her.

"Well, of course he was," Tyrion replied in a tone that suggested she was foolish to think otherwise. "You are a beautiful young woman, Mella, you should be aware that you will attract the attention of many powerful men."

"I've had enough flattery for one night." Mella frowned across at her uncle, and Tyrion noted how much she had changed. Mella had always been rather spirited, but she had been taught to hold her tongue and behave like a lady. Now, with her hair just past her shoulders and her temper rarely in check, it seemed that Mella Baratheon was much changed from her ventures in the north with Robb Stark.

"I suppose you're expecting I can tell you what he wants." Tyrion sighed heavily. It was nice to be thought of as intelligent by someone, but then again, he had always gotten along better with Mella than other siblings of hers such as Joffrey. "It is strange, the Dornish venturing to King's Landing. Since Elia's death, we haven't had a very stable relationship with them. However, since I had Myrcella betrothed to Trystane – which your dear mother was not impressed about – perhaps they're becoming warmer towards us."

"Do you think that's what it could be?" Mella inquired almost hopefully. To her, it was quite the mystery. She doubted Quentyn was simply flirting with her in the effort of showing her some kindness.

"To be honest? No." Tyrion leaned back in his chair and poured himself a goblet of wine. He offered Mella some, but she wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "I believe that Quentyn Martell intends to court you."

"Why is that?" Mella asked, frowning in thought. Her sister was already in the south, betrothed to Trystane – and she was all of seventeen and betrothed to nobody, while even Joffrey was to marry. It seemed that perhaps even Tommen would marry before her. The idea made her cringe in humiliation. "It makes no sense for Quentyn to court me when our siblings are already to be married within a few years."

"Yes, but Myrcella is only twelve," Tyrion reminded Mella, taking another deep gulp from his wine. The arrival of the Dornish perturbed him also, as did Quentyn's interest in Mella. He had no doubt that this stemmed from the spreading rumours that she was Robert's only legitimate child. "She and Trystane will not wed for another few years yet. However, you are a woman grown, and such measures as complicated betrothals would not need to take place. Quentyn could marry you immediately if you both so chose."

Mella caught her breath. "Do you think that is his intention? To marry me?"

"I hope so," Tyrion said grimly, setting down his goblet with a thud. "Because otherwise, I fear his motives may be something far more sinister."

* * *

Robb had his time to grieve. He had thrown things, smashed things, beat at things until his fists bled. He had cried, more times than he liked to count. How could Theon have done such a thing? They were practically brothers, raised together. Yet now, he had taken Winterfell and murdered Bran and Rickon. Catelyn succumbed to her grief alone, and Arya had been snappy and volatile, unwilling to admit just how much she was hurting.

Yet now, Robb was expected to become King in the North once more. His time to mourn was over, and he was meant to be strong. He was meant to bear this burden upon his shoulders and become even more determined to finish what he had started. Yet sitting outside his tent and looking over the camp, Robb just wanted to go to Winterfell, to a time and place where none of this had ever happened.

"You miss her."

Robb hadn't even realised that he wasn't focusing until he heard Arya's voice, and it snapped him back to reality. She was right, of course. Too perceptive for a girl of nearly twelve, as she seemed to realise that Robb was staring into space thinking of Mella Baratheon and her sudden departure rather than focusing on what was right in front of him. He noticed she was sharpening a small knife against a rock and frowned.

"Where did you get that?"

"None of your business," Arya replied, but there was little venom in her tone. She regarded her older brother carefully. "Do you love her?"

Their family had been rent apart by the Lannisters and he was trying to pick up the pieces. Yet Mella was holding him back in ways he never thought he could be held back. How could he remain true to the Frey girl he was meant to marry when he was so desperately in love with another?

"Yes, I do," Robb admitted heavily, raking a hand through his hair. It should be his father he discussed such issues with, or even Jon. Yet here he was, talking to his little sister about love and what it meant to him. "But I can't. Not when I'm to marry a Frey girl, it wouldn't be fair on her."

"You're not the only one." Arya scowled deeply. "I have to marry a Frey boy when I am of age, so if you're going to complain, then so am I."

Robb couldn't help but laugh. Arya made him feel so much lighter without meaning to. It was good to have her around the camp, even if she didn't really understand the complicated relationship that he had with Mella. He often wondered about her, knowing that she had recently turned seventeen. Was she ever planning to return north? There had been no sign of Sansa, so how could he know that she was keeping her vow? Yet he trusted her, even if there wasn't full reason to trust her.

Love was a beautiful thing, Robb could see that. Yet there were many other things about love he'd never thought about before. Wasn't it love that had almost destroyed Westeros before, Rhaegar Targaryen's love for Lyanna? Love was remarkable, yet it was also a chaotic force. There was as much evil in it as there was good…and Robb felt with his sinking heart that a match for love was not going to be in his future.


End file.
